Weight of the World
by RavenclawGenius
Summary: Aaron Hotchner was a man who carried a lot of baggage, but he also wanted to help Emily with hers. H/P
1. PROLOGUE: MORNING COFFEE MOMENTS

**Title**: _Weight of the World_**  
Author**: RavenclawGenius**  
Summary**: Aaron Hotchner was a man who carried a lot of baggage. H/P**  
Disclaimer**: I do not own Criminal Minds, nor the characters within it.

_**Author's Note**__: Hiya, folks. This is my first foray into the Criminal Minds world (and, for the record, my first attempt at any genre that is non-fantasy related), so be easy on me. I hope to do right by you all, so if I'm lacking or overdoing anything, I implore you to let me know, and I'll see what I can do about remedying the situation._

_I want you guys to know that I'm going to be flashing around my artistic license a bit, to manipulate things how I want them to be. I'll be ignoring everything that has to do with Will and JJ (including baby Henry). Also, I don't think I'm going to include anything about Emily's abortion in this one, although she'll still get to express her fair share of troubles. Garcia and Kevin never happened, because really, she's so obviously made for Morgan that I can't believe they even attempted to insert Kevin into the mix at all. We'll have to see about whatever else might come up, but those are the three things that I know for sure._

_One last point, and I know this author's note has become several miles long, so bear with me, guys. This is only a __**prologue**__. Chapters following this one will be accompanied by a much greater amount of dialogue, but I need this chapter here to emphasize the current relationship that Hotch and Emily have, to express Hotch's current state, and to describe Emily Prentiss as I understand her._

_I think that's it, for now! Enjoy, and please, please review! As I said before, this is my first time with this sort of fic, so feedback is not only cherished, it might be required.

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PROLOGUE: MORNING COFFEE MOMENTS

Aaron Hotchner was a man who carried a lot of baggage.

He was supremely dedicated to his job, and focused so intensely on the cases that he worked that, sometimes, he lost the rather weak hold he had on his already floundering reality. He had a son, who – although a beautifully sweet and understanding boy – he was struggling to take care of, and was trying desperately to ensure that he had the life that he so very much deserved. And, as of eight months ago, Aaron Hotchner had a dead ex-wife.

Hotch was a profiler, and though he tried to keep those particular talents out of his personal life, he wasn't stupid or deluded enough to think that he hadn't seen the signs of his failing marriage long before Haley had left or divorced him. But Haley had been such a huge part of his life for such a long time that, naturally, Hotch didn't know what to do without her. And knowing that he could have done something to prevent her from being killed tore him apart.

It had been a rough time since then, but he refused the many suggestions that he attend therapy, because he knew that it would be endless amounts of money spent for some random psychologist to listen to his story and try to convince him that it wasn't his fault. Besides, Hotch had trust issues; he wasn't about to explain his life to a stranger.

A stranger wouldn't understand how much his family had meant to him. A stranger wouldn't understand how his heart broke every time his almost-six-year-old son asked if Mommy still cried in heaven. A stranger wouldn't understand that he'd drained every ounce of strength left in him when trying to find a balance between his job – his team; his surrogate family – and his real family back at home. A stranger wouldn't, and couldn't possibly understand how much he loved his son, and how much he wished he could provide a better life for him.

But somehow, Emily Prentiss did understand.

Hotch didn't know when it had happened. He had no idea when she'd taken it upon herself to look after him. But he remembered the first time he realized what she was doing.

_The jet flew high over the planes of Indiana, the site of their most recent case. It had been a fairly easy one to solve, but by the time they'd been called in, there were already six murdered children, and that tugged on the heartstrings of the entire team. Children were the hardest to bear; the loss of life, the loss of innocence and opportunities. _

_And all Hotch could think of was his son. All he could think about was that his Jack could have been killed that day when his ex-wife had died. And it would have been his fault. He would have been responsible for the death of his own child. He loved that boy. Jack had grounded him through so much of the aftermath of Haley's death, and had kept him from wallowing in his guilt and anger, because he knew that he had a child to love and protect and take care of. And Hotch would be damned if he let that boy suffer because of the endless mistakes that his father had made._

_Jack deserved everything in the world._

_But now, in the relative solitude of the jet, Hotch's head was stuck on the could-have-beens. His son was a definite could-have-been, and although Hotch hated thinking about his son being anything other than alive, happy, smiling, and absolutely adorable, he knew that death had been a distinct and terrifying possibility that day. He'd nearly failed his own son – and in some ways, he already had._

"_Hotch," he heard a soft voice call him, and after a moment to process, he angled his head up to face its owner._

_His dark eyes sought out a set of compassionate, gentle brown ones. There was hesitancy there, too, he noticed. Prentiss thought she was overstepping the thick boundaries he'd implanted following Haley's death, and truth was, she probably would, and he would probably react violently to it. He just needed to determine how distressed he was at the prospect that she was willing to do it anyway._

"_You're doing everything you can for Jack," she said quietly. "You're a good father. These kids…" She sighed, shaking her head, and beginning again, "I know that it would be virtually impossible not to think of your son, Hotch, but do not ever question your abilities as a father. That boy loves you."_

_Her voice was low, and intimate in a way that he wasn't sure he was comfortable with, but it did something in his lower belly that heated and churned deep within him. She was a self-proclaimed compartmentalizer, and though she was always kind and gentle, and often protective of the victims they saw and the team that they worked so closely with, it was rare for them to see passion rise from her. _

_So, yes, it surprised him to hear the heavy conviction in her words. Though some part of him wanted to snap at her for profiling him and, further, intruding on his personal life, a larger part of him understood that this, for whatever reason, was something she felt strongly about. And that part of him knew that it took either a lot of care or a lot of trust – maybe some combination of the two – on her part for her to convey that to him. Because Emily Prentiss was not one to express emotions if it could be helped._

_He inclined his head to acknowledge her words, and offered a silent expression of gratitude. Her returning smile was shy and small, but somehow Hotch took encouragement from it._

It was later that he realized that, in order to understand how very much that would have meant to him, she must have been keeping watch over him for a long time. He wracked his brain for previous instances of her concern.

It didn't take long for him to recall that Emily often took care of the questions that local LEOs asked him that had his heart jammed in his throat, and his voice refusing to cooperate. There had been several situations like that in Indiana, and nearly every one she had answered promptly, before anyone had the opportunity to notice his difficulties.

He remembered that she'd brought him coffee several times when he'd been run pretty ragged over the past months, maybe years, even before Haley had left. She'd grab lunch for him, too; Emily somehow remembered, or intuitively _knew_, that Hotch would forget to eat when cases nagged at him or the amount of paperwork on his desk became great and daunting.

He couldn't recall when it had begun, but in that instant, he'd known that he had greatly undervalued Emily Prentiss, and all that she did for him.

After that, a friendship (Hotch supposed you could call it that) had slowly developed between them. He'd ask her to stay in his office when she brought him coffee, and he'd get her opinions on certain cases. Hotch had asked about a particularly indecent case one morning, and she'd scrunched her nose up absently. When he asked what was wrong, she blushed furiously, and replied that she didn't really enjoy talking about cases before she'd washed down her first cup of coffee.

Hotch had looked at her curiously, but she refused to give him an inch unless he outright asked her for it. He did. She flushed – prettily, Hotch's subconscious added, much to his conscious mind's displeasure – and admitted that, although she was very talented at compartmentalizing, before her first cup of coffee, her mind was an incredibly boggled abode. She spent a few minutes every day putting everything in its proper place, and when hard-to-deal-with cases were talked about before she'd had the chance to sort through everything else, she didn't cope with it very well.

He immediately felt contrite. So the next day, and all the days following, he'd made sure not to discuss any cases with her until they met with the others in the conference room. He greatly enjoyed hearing her opinions and perspectives, because for some reason, they seemed to compliment or contrast with his own in an extremely productive way, but when he needed those things from her now, he called her to his office later in the day and asked her what she thought.

But it was during the times that he'd affectionately dubbed their Morning Coffee Moments that he learned the most about her.

She didn't talk about herself often, which he'd already known, but for some reason he'd thought it might change in a slightly more personal atmosphere – and he couldn't deny that he certainly did feel as though those Morning Coffee Moments were personal. But it hadn't changed.

Emily relaxed in his office, and often curled her legs beneath her as she sat on the sofa that was more decoration for the room than anything else. So few people actually approached Hotch's office for anything less than serious matters, and in those situations, the chair in front of his desk was infinitely more appropriate.

Hotch couldn't explain it, but for some reason he appreciated that Emily was the only one to put the dark piece of furniture to use. And when she sat in it, curled that way with a mug or cup of coffee in her hands, he enjoyed her company the most just then.

She listened, but didn't pry. She'd ask vague questions about his life, or about Jack – she always asked about Jack, and she always looked so concerned when she did; it touched Hotch in a way that he couldn't quite decipher. Some days, he'd answer her vague question with a vague response, and she'd nod her head and let him. But some days, he'd feel either comfortable enough or worn down enough to share with her.

Emily was the first and only person he told about the videos that Jack liked to watch of Haley. Emily was the only one who knew how terrified he was when he contemplated sending Jack to school, leaving him alone with someone (albeit a teacher) that he wasn't familiar with. Emily was the only one who knew about his nightmares, and the only one he thought he'd ever feel comfortable telling about the ones that Jack had, too. He told her about how Jack crawled into his bed some nights, saying that he was too scared to work another case with Daddy ever again.

She offered him endless amounts of compassion, which he was sure he didn't deserve. As much as he didn't want pity, and as guilty as he felt, it was nice to know that someone was supporting him, and that someone wanted only what was best for him and his son. It was nice to know that, when he needed her, she would be there.

Hotch knew she didn't enjoy talking about herself, but he didn't necessarily need her to. Although he'd like her to trust him enough to share, he learned so much from her responses, and the emotions that overtook her eyes.

He knew she paid attention to small things, and as profilers they ought to, but not really the way that she did. Emily didn't just know _how_ he took his coffee, or _when_ he wanted it; she knew that he needed the extra punch of sugar – two packets of it – in the mornings, and knew that by the afternoon, he needed it so desperately that he had to put cream in it for no other reason than he needed it to be cool enough to drink immediately.

And aside from the perfect coffee that she brought or made for him daily, and the meals that she perfectly predicted he would enjoy, Hotch knew that Emily did much more for him than that. She often traded their hotel keys if the bed in his room was closer to the window than hers, because she knew he hated sleeping beside windows. She bought comedy movies and would leave them on his desk, with little notes that informed him that he needed to smile more often. And, when cases were particularly difficult for him, he'd curiously find a bottle of very, very expensive liquor just inside the door of his hotel room, with another note advising him that a shot would make the memories fuzzy, but a couple would pronounce the hurt.

And he wasn't the only one that she took care of.

Hotch knew that Emily made it a point to bring Garcia her favorite cherry pastry from the bakery down the street at least once a week, because she felt like Garcia's work was sometimes underappreciated, as she performed the majority of it from her bunker and far away from the team. He knew that Emily also adamantly and almost religiously purchased PEZ candies for the tech analyst every time they went on a case, but she would open the packages and get rid of the cherry and raspberry flavored packets that Garcia didn't like. Garcia loved cherry, but as far as PEZ were concerned, Emily told him when he'd asked, she only enjoyed the original flavors of grape, lemon, strawberry, and orange. And, if the growing mass of PEZ dispensers in Garcia's bunker spoke any sort of truth at all, Emily had purchased one of these after almost every case since she began working in the BAU.

Hotch also knew that Emily kept extra books in her ready bag for Reid, because he never packed enough to keep him entertained for most of the flights that they took. And he knew that she'd spend hours in the bookstore, specifically picking out ones that she thought he'd like. He knew that because, sometimes, he called her while she was in these bookstores, and for the duration of their usually-hour-long phone calls, she never left the shops.

Hotch knew that she kept extra chocolate on hand for JJ: Reese's, because JJ didn't like the Snickers bars that Emily favored. Emily also stayed late with the communications coordinator to help her with her files and paperwork, because she liked when JJ had some down time and some rest between the just-finished case and the one that the media liaison would stress over and choose for them next.

Hotch knew that she kept her iPod charged in her ready bag for when Morgan's died (as it inevitably did), and that she kept a running playlist of songs that he liked for when he borrowed it (as she inevitably let him). He'd heard Derek teasing her about the fact that her iPod might as well belong to him, but she simply smiled indulgently and shrugged it off.

And Hotch knew that she even agreed to proof-read some of the basic drafts of Rossi's next book. He'd been surprised, at first, that Rossi had allowed her to look at it, and more surprised when he'd learned later that Rossi had _asked_ her to look at it. It took him a few weeks after that to learn that he had missed the relationship that had developed between them, and that Rossi – although no further into Emily Prentiss's barricaded mind than he was – had taken her under his wing, and felt very protective of the younger agent.

And if there was one thing that Hotch had learned about Emily Prentiss through all of these things, it was that she had the biggest heart in the world.


	2. CHAPTER ONE: BEGIN AT THE BEGINNING

CHAPTER ONE: BEGIN AT THE BEGINNING

Emily entered the office an hour early, as per her usual, and glanced for a very brief moment at the files on her desk. They could wait, and they would, she decided. Her morning sessions with Hotch had become so vital to her routine that, at this point, she didn't know that she could make it through a week without them. She enjoyed seeing the man slightly more at ease, and she liked knowing that if he needed anything, especially after everything that had happened with Haley, he knew that he could come to her.

At least, he seemed like he understood that, and Emily dearly hoped that he did.

She knocked on the frame of the open door, despite knowing that he left it open for her. Hotch usually worked some before she arrived, and he drove through that work with such intensity that Emily often felt obligated to somehow announce her presence for fear of startling him.

"Good morning," he offered, a small smile tilting the corners of his mouth upward as he set his pen down and closed the manila folder on his desk.

"Don't know if I'd call it good, but Lord, it certainly is morning, isn't it?" She laughed wryly, and handed him the cup of coffee that she held in her left hand.

Hotch raised a brow, but remained silent. He obligingly accepted the coffee as he watched her toe off her heels and make herself comfortable in the corner of the couch, her own cup of liquid caffeine resting on the floor below.

"Anything you want to talk about?" He eventually asked.

Emily made a soft humming noise in the back of her throat, leaning her head against the arm of the sofa, resting her eyes for a moment. Hotch knew that these were the moments where she let her guard down the most, and he also knew that he was very privileged to be one of the few who she trusted so implicitly that she was willing to do that in his presence.

"Nothing to talk about," she said amicably. "Just tired, really."

"You didn't leave until late last night," Hotch reasoned.

"I was helping JJ," Emily replied, nothing but fondness in her voice. "She was swamped. And you didn't leave until after I did, so I shouldn't be any more exhausted than you are."

Hotch laughed gently, and said, "I'm a self-diagnosed insomniac, if it makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't," she murmured softly, but the silent extension of strength that only she conveyed so well clung to her words and carried her voice across the room. Her eyes had peeked open, and they appeared solemn and worried as they patiently waited for him to respond. When he didn't, because he wasn't quite sure how to adequately respond to such an intimate show of concern, she tendered a smile, and closed her eyes again.

"How are you, Hotch?"

He deliberated over his response. He did every morning. Sometimes, he wasn't sure if he wanted to tell her exactly how poorly he was doing. Sometimes, he just liked to reassure himself that when he talked, she would listen. But Emily didn't seem to mind; she continued to ask him every morning because she was genuinely concerned. He knew she liked it better when he answered truthfully, or when he would outright admit that he just didn't want to talk about it, but sometimes he still felt like he should lie to her.

Hotch often felt like she took on too much of the weight that he carried. Hell, Hotch often felt like she took on the weight of the world. He knew she absolutely abhorred seeing others hurt, especially those she cared about, but no matter how talented she was at compartmentalizing, there were only so many emotions and troubles that one person could carry.

"Surviving," Hotch decided lightly. He'd be honest today; besides, all of his answers were decent ones this morning, so she wouldn't have very much to take on because of them.

"Yeah?" It was, technically, phrased as a question, but the easy smile on the edges of Emily's lips told him that she believed him without the reaffirmation of his answer.

"Yeah," he affirmed anyway.

"And Jack?" He watched as her brow furrowed anxiously, just above her still-closed eyelids.

"He's enjoying the time he gets to spend with Jessica, and he likes that I come home for dinner," Hotch replied. There was a surge of easiness and pride in his voice, Hotch was sure, derived from the fact that, thus far at least, he had successfully managed to perform his job adequately while simultaneously pleasing his son.

"That's so great, Hotch," her voice was laced with relief.

"I thought so, too," Hotch said, smiling at her when her drowsy eyes fluttered open. "Are you sure you're alright, Emily?"

"Mhmm," she replied easily.

Hotch considered things for a moment, and surreptitiously checked his watch. He wanted to let her sleep, right there on his couch, but there was something terribly domestic (and therefore something a little unsettling) about her napping while he made notes in the margins of his files.

Emily saved him the trouble of having to make a decision. She forced herself upward, lifting her coffee and taking a long pull from the still steaming liquid. With great reluctance, and a brief glance of shared disgruntlement, she sighed and slid from his office.

Hotch returned to his own work as she traipsed down the stairs to the bullpen. He wondered briefly at the fact that no goodbyes were exchanged, and no other segues were needed to transition from her all but falling asleep on his couch to leaving his office altogether. The thought was so fleeting, however, that he was buried in paperwork before he came up with any reason why that should be abnormal.

He didn't get as much paperwork completed as he'd planned to, though. He'd spent much of the day on the phone, dealing with higher-ups intent on performing evaluations on his team. Hotch didn't mind if his team was interrogated on their methods; they could all hold their own fairly well in front of Strauss or anyone else who was thrown at them. The problem arose when the evaluations extended into the field. That made the team nervous. It made _him_ nervous. Under conditions like those, it was hard to perform your best work, and on cases like the ones they handled, their best work was really the only acceptable kind.

And after half a day of speaking with people who, Hotch was sure, wanted nothing other than to see their unit fail, he was exhausted. He bowed his head and rested it in the palm of his hand, kneading at the stress wrinkles that he knew were present. The voice that chattered in his ear was entirely too irritating.

JJ's appearance moments later was a relief, as far as Hotch was concerned. She smiled at him sympathetically, and he nodded his head, appreciating her condolences and indicating that she should have a seat.

"No, sir, that's not what I'm saying… Yes, sir… I'll have to get back to you… Yes. Thank you very much." He placed the phone back in its cradle, aggravated. All he wanted was to introduce his head to the wooden plane of his desk, but that would be both unprofessional and pointless, and it certainly wouldn't have helped the migraine that had eased its way in sometime earlier that morning.

"That sounded lovely," JJ intoned lightly, earning a blank glare from her unit chief. She laughed shortly, but she sobered soon after. "I'm afraid I don't have anything that's going to improve your day."

"What is it?" He obediently inquired.

She held up a file, much like the closed one that he'd been desperately trying to return to all morning long. "It's a doozy," she informed. "There's been a series of murders in New York, all of them involving politicians."

Politicians meant press, unfortunately, but JJ was very talented at her job, and if anyone could handle this sort of publicity, it was Agent Jennifer Jareau. He stood, and gestured for her to do the same. Collecting the file and taking it with them, they slipped through the door of his office.

"I need the BAU team to gather in the conference room immediately," Hotch announced, his pace quick and efficient, his tone urgent and brooking no arguments.

When they'd all gathered, he gave his approval for JJ to start. She picked up the remote to the screen, and pushed a few buttons before she began.

"Five politicians have been murdered within New York City in as many weeks," JJ said, and as she spoke, she pressed the remote. Five pictures of brutalized victims immediately followed her statement.

"Murdered?" Morgan snorted incredulously. "These guys look like they were slaughtered, to me."

The unit chief raised his chin in acknowledgment, and allowed the team a moment to sift through and accept the information that they had been handed.

"Talk about an angry killing," Emily said wryly.

JJ made a small sound in agreement. "This was Victor Tin, a state representative," JJ proceeded, pointing to the first picture on the left, and continuing to list the victims. "This was Adam Crand; he was a judge who lived and worked in the city. Walter Vick worked for the DA's office. Jaron Farth was a high-power attorney, who mostly only took cases for politician's kids – you know, dealing with the yacht accidents or drug scandals that shouldn't be released to the press; in the city, these kids are usually minor celebrities. And then there's Dr. Mike Lavor, the Commissioner of Health.

"Each of them was sodomized with some sort of metal pipe before they were beaten, stabbed, and eviscerated. The ME says that the victims most likely died before or during the process of removing the internal organs. The UNSUB left each of the bodies in some sort of construction site, but the site varies, obviously. Each time, there's been some sort of foundation for whatever building is being plotted out; on the walls, or on the floor, or somewhere on the scene, this had been written near each of the victims' bodies," she paused, clicking the remote once more.

"We did this?" Rossi read aloud, confused. The words were spelled in what was clearly blood, and were written in all capital letters.

JJ nodded. "The NYPD is at a loss. Most of the team is reluctant to call us in, but they've run out of leads, and the media is hounding them for answers."

Reid's brows furrowed together in confusion. "The amount of bloodshed and the number of wounds in the bodies indicate that these were uncontrolled crimes, committed out of rage. Generally, that should lead us to believe that the UNSUB would be disorganized, but as crazy as it sounds, this looks very meticulous."

"How do you figure?" Emily asked.

"There are many injuries and lacerations that appear as though they could be the cause of death. But look at the wrists and the neck. The UNSUB didn't touch either of those areas."

"Okay," Derek said slowly. "So what does that mean, Reid?"

"In a human, the veins that are closest to the surface are located in the neck and wrists. These are the veins that would most likely lead to exsanguination, and therefore the quickest death," Reid explained.

"So he wanted them to suffer," Emily deduced.

"We'll talk about it more on the plane," Hotch declared firmly. "Wheels up in half an hour."

_**Author's Note**__:_

_Guys, I have to thank you. I don't think I ever expected as much feedback as I received, especially not when this is my first fic in this area. I hope the second chapter didn't disappoint!  
Please continue to review!_


	3. CHAPTER TWO: MURDER IN YOUR HONOR

_**Author's Note:**__ Alright, this chapter is pretty scattered. Let's just say that I don't think I enjoy writing about cases very much. But this one is an integral part of this story, so I hope you can forgive me._

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CHAPTER TWO: MURDER IN YOUR HONOR

Emily watched the team volley ideas back and forth for a while, occasionally adding a contribution of her own, although her words were sparse. Something about this case perplexed her. She knew about these victims. She was raised in politics; it would have been astonishing if she _hadn't_ heard about these victims.

But something must have linked them together, and she felt like it was staring her in the face. She just couldn't seem to grasp at it, and it greatly irritated her.

"Prentiss?" Hotch lifted his head, his dark eyes appraising her curiously. "You've been fairly quiet about this."

The team quieted and turned to look at her, but Emily shifted and tossed two fingers outward in a sort of helpless gesture. "Something about it is just eluding me," she shrugged uneasily.

And that was really all she could say about it. There was nothing concrete about this uncomfortable feeling within her, and certainly nothing else that she could explain to her team. She just felt like something was dancing at the edges of her thoughts, and she couldn't quite remember a detail that would soon become very important.

Hotch nodded. There was a brief pause between the jerky motion of his head and the words that he next uttered, where he presumably recalled how exhausted she had been just a few hours ago, laying down in his office. "You ought to rest," the unit chief suggested.

Emily raised an eyebrow at him, an amused smile tickling the corners of her mouth. He shrugged, an entertained glint in his eye as he turned away from her and back to the file that each of them held.

She turned away as well, understanding that their silent communication had ended, and she had won this round. Not necessarily because Hotch thought she was right to resist sleep, but because this time, he was willing to let her obvious exhaustion slide.

There were many things that she appreciated about Aaron Hotchner, and although his protective streak was one of those things, it was also something that irritated her on occasion. But, Emily thought, it was also exactly the thing that made him a good unit chief.

Hotch was intelligent, yes, and an incredibly good agent, and those things made him a fantastic leader. It had been _those_ traits that had attracted the attention of his superiors, and had subsequently put him in his position. But the title of unit chief, to Emily, implied that he was also responsible for looking out for their best interests. They all screwed up, they all became involved sometimes, and Hotch was not excluded; the man was not without his faults. But that fierce protective streak that urged him to take care of the agents under his command was not only admirable, it had also created foundation of trust within their unit.

And the BAU was absolutely nothing if there was no trust between them. They spent too much time together, and put their lives in the hands of the team far too often for them to be successful without relying upon their fellow agents when the need called for it.

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It wasn't until they touched down in New York that Emily remembered exactly how much she detested this city. But she wouldn't think about that when they had a case to handle, and so she politely shook the hand of the lead detective when she was introduced, and followed her team into the FBI issue, black SUVs that awaited them.

The day was long and grueling, and there was more than one detective who seemed not only skeptical of their work, but entirely unwilling to place any stock in it at all. Emily didn't entirely blame them, as she understood why they would be doubtful, but it didn't make their job any easier.

"So, let me get this straight," one brawny, somewhat greasy detective began. "You guys swoop in and expect to find something at these scenes that we haven't already got to, build some psychological profile, and suppose you can find the guy? Come on," he said disbelievingly, tossing his yellow steno notepad onto a desk. "It doesn't matter why the guy did what he did, the fact is that he did it, and we gotta find him. How do you think what you're doing is gonna help?"

"Detective," Hotch paused, waiting just a beat to ensure that he had the attention of most everyone in the room, "the profiles that we construct, the psychology of these crimes helps us learn about the UNSUB's past, and about his current state of mind. It provides a type – some sort of image of what you should be looking for. And when we go to the crime scenes, we don't expect to find something that you haven't, we expect to see things that you aren't necessarily trained to look for. I understand your skepticism, Detective, but if you believe nothing else, believe that we know how to do our jobs."

When the detective shrank back into his chair, albeit reluctantly, Hotch directed his team. "JJ, I want you to find out exactly how much the press knows, and see about touching base with your contacts in the city. See if there's anything you can do to hide that we're here. You don't go after New York politicians for no reason; this guy wants the media's attention, and I don't want to give it to him. Reid, work on building a geographical profile. Morgan, Prentiss, I want you at the first three crime scenes. Rossi and I will visit the most recent three."

The first crime scene was hardly distinguishable from the other two that they visited, and Emily felt frustrated with the results.

"The area around where the bodies were found is neat," she informed the team once they'd arrived back at the precinct, "which stands in stark contrast to the brutality that's present in the murders."

"But he chose construction sites for a reason," Rossi continued. "The problem is that it could be either for the shock that he knew the workers would receive upon locating the bodies, or it could be something more like a class issue."

"How are you doing with the geographical profile, Reid?" Hotch inquired, knowing that there were a lot of explanations for why the UNSUB chose construction sites to dump the bodies, and also knowing that they would be hard pressed to discern the appropriate one just yet.

The genius shrugged, and said, "The dump sites are all around the city. There doesn't really seem to be a pattern for them so far, but I'll keep looking."

"Good," Hotch nodded. "Morgan, call Garcia and get her tracking information we can use for victimology. The victims were all politicians, yes, but there has to be a reason why these specific ones were chosen."

They worked tirelessly until one the following morning, when the team's exhaustion became impossible to ignore.

"Alright, let's head to the hotel. There isn't much else we can do tonight, especially not in this state," Hotch declared, much to the team's relief.

The drive back was quiet. Each of them was tired, and a feeling of uselessness was already beginning to creep its way into their subconscious minds. This UNSUB was good; there was no forensic evidence left behind, and the killer was obviously skilled enough to get the victims from the kill site to the dump site without being seen. They needed a lead that would, eventually, unravel the metaphorical ball of yarn that they were looking at – they just weren't sure where to find it.

Emily roomed with JJ for the night, but both of them understood that they were too exhausted to catch up on things. They showered, changed clothes, and crawled into bed as quickly as they could manage.

And they began again the following morning.

"Garcia," Hotch said into the speaker of one of the office phones in the conference room they'd overtaken, "can you send me everything you found on the victims?"

"Sure can, Boss Man," the technical analyst agreed. "But I don't know if you'll find much. I scoured and scoured, and pushed my babies to the limit – which is pretty damn far, let me tell you – and I can't find so much as a dance studio where they took their kids in common. These guys run in the same kind of circles, so you'd think it'd be easy to find similarities, but there just aren't any."

"Alright, Garcia, send us anything new. I want to know – "

"Hotch!" JJ rushed into the room, her low heels clicking against the floor and adding a sense of urgency to her appearance.

"What is it, JJ?" The stoic man understood that he was about to hear something that he wasn't going to like.

"They found another body," JJ informed quickly. "But the UNSUB already knows we're here."

"Why do you say that?" Hotch's brow furrowed, gathering his suit jacket and the keys to the SUV, making his way toward the door.

"Because the UNSUB left a letter at the crime scene," JJ followed the team out, apparently deciding that she would tag along, "and it's addressed to Emily."

There were two brief seconds of complete silence where they took a moment to understand what their media liaison was telling them, but they all looked to Hotch for instructions.

The unit chief turned his head to the lead detective, and said firmly, "Nobody touches that letter until we arrive, Detective. Let's go."

Hotch's directions seemed to snap everyone back into action, and they all piled into the SUVs. Hotch gently grasped Emily's elbow before she slid into Rossi's vehicle, and he shook his head, nodding in the direction of the one that he would be driving. Emily nodded, and followed quickly, hopping into the new SUV and refusing to allow her mind to consider why the UNSUB could have possibly addressed anything to her.

"You said something was eluding you on the plane," Hotch asked, the unit chief persona radiating from him in heavy waves, keeping his eyes on the road, but turning his head slightly in her direction.

"I still don't know what it is, Hotch," she said helplessly.

"Was it about the victims or the crime scenes?" He pressed.

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "I've been thinking about it since we got here, but it's just not coming to me."

They pulled into a space next to the curb of a construction site, and most of them hurried up the steps of the unfinished pet store. On the ground level, however, Hotch announced that Agent Prentiss needed to see the letter that had been left behind.

The uni who'd first arrived on the scene nodded, and placed the envelope into Emily's now-gloved hands. Hotch waited beside her.

In elegantly printed letters on the front, the name _Emily T. Prentiss_ stood in black ink. Emily forced her fingers to remain steady as she slid the flap of the envelope open, but she barely managed to keep them still as she pulled out the letter.

_Dear Emily,_

_I understand that you've returned to New York, finally. I've waited for you for quite some time now. But I also know why you detest this city as much as you do, and so I certainly cannot blame you for staying away. I would probably have done the same._

_I need you to know that I've done this for you. Now, I know that you've nurtured a strong hatred for killers, but I hope – in fact, I plead with you – to make an exception in my case. I will not argue that a killer is what I am, but I have only the best intentions, I promise you. Always, I watched as you suffered, and as I watched, I did nothing. I will never be able to apologize enough for that, my Emily. I will never be able to express to you the guilt that has haunted me for so many years, because nobody ever said anything in your defense._

_I'm more than twenty years too late, Emily, and if you think I don't know that, you are sadly mistaken. Nevertheless, I never forgot what happened to you, and I certainly never forgot that, even when you were so very brave enough to share what had happened to you, nothing was ever done to punish those at fault._

_Now, finally, all these years later, I offer you solace, Emily. I bring you vindication, and hopefully peace. Because I know that what happened to you was so very wrong. I know that you will never, despite the distance between you and this city, forget what was done to you. And I know that you never in a million years or worlds did anything to deserve something so cruel._

_The others I killed to bring you back to the city, Emily, but do not worry – they were all guilty, and deserved some sort of punishment. This murder, though, was the one that I waited for. I wanted you to see what I did for you, and to see that the world is not always so unjust. I murdered this one for you, Emily, and so this is the only murder that I myself was personally invested in._

_Soon, I'll be finished. Forgive me, my Emily._

"Where's the body?" Emily asked, pushing the letter into Hotch's chest and quickly rushing up the stairs, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.

"We haven't IDed him yet," the uni informed, hurrying up after her.

The team cleared out of the way once they saw that she was there, and Emily's breath hitched upon seeing the mutilated body on the ground, organs spread out around him. "We don't need to," she whispered.

Hotch was quick to follow Emily after reading through the letter.

"You know who this is?" Morgan asked carefully.

The look in Emily's eyes as she turned her gaze away from the dead body was a strange one. "Yeah," she said, clearing her throat and taking a couple steps away.

"Who is it, Emily?" Hotch posed the question carefully, reaching out and grasping her shoulder gently.

"Andrew Alan Prentiss III," she said, looking up at him in such utter confusion that Hotch's heart stuttered. "He's my father."


	4. CHAPTER THREE: RUBBLE

_**Author's Note:**_ _Your reviews are phenomenal, and I love each and every one of them. Thank you, so very much! You'll never know how much I appreciate your feedback. You've all been wonderful to me so far._

_However, as much as I do enjoy your reviews, that's not the reason for this particular note. I feel the need to warn you all before you delve into this chapter: It's pretty heavy stuff, and it's definitely going into one of those 'author's license' moments, because nothing like this every happened on the show. __**This chapter deserves the 'M' rating, and not for sexual content.**__ That being said, if you're willing to proceed, I'd love to hear your thoughts. If not, I appreciate that you were willing to spend time to read my work, and I thank you all the same.

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CHAPTER THREE: RUBBLE

Agent Jennifer Jareau was not a profiler. Additionally, she had no wish to be one. She was like Garcia in some ways, in that she liked to still believe in the genuine goodness of humanity. Although she was privy to so many more of the gory details than the team's technical analyst, she still saw the good in what she did.

JJ saw the good in the wrung out detectives who called her, hopeless and begging – often in the middle of the night – wanting nothing more than for someone (the BAU) to fly in, work some magic, and save their city or town from whatever horror they were currently facing. She saw the good in the families of the victims they tried to help, willing to do whatever it took to save their children, their mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, cousins from the crimes that were committed against them. She saw the good in the press that she so efficiently handled, despite their hound-like nature and the fact that they often lost sight of their main goal (which was, and had to be, to keep the people informed) in favor of the hottest story available.

And, whether they would believe it or not, she saw the most amount of good within their own BAU family. She saw Derek Morgan's fierce need to support those he cared for in any way that he was able. She saw Spencer Reid's desperate desire to offer up any of his vast knowledge to save or help or inform whoever he felt needed it, sometimes overcompensating for his lack of social skills and succeeding in comforting simply through the sheer effort he put into being useful for those he loved. JJ saw Garcia's innate ability to cheer up the most downtrodden of their team, and understood that the bubbly blonde extended her Goddess-like powers only to a select few, and that they were lucky to be counted among that number. She saw that David Rossi, despite his frequent use of sarcasm, was willing to go through hell and back to attain his version of justice, yes, but also for this team and all that it stood for. She saw that Aaron Hotchner was stoic and strong, but not always because he wanted to be, instead often because he felt like he _needed_ to be, in order to provide that strong foundation for them, and she knew that this, more than anything else, proved how much he loved each of them.

But JJ wondered sometimes if, despite all of that, she saw the most amount of good in Emily Prentiss. It wasn't because she went above the rest of them in her effort to help others, or because she displayed her affections in a different manner. JJ saw the most amount of good in her because she felt so deeply and strongly, despite the type of household that the dark-haired agent had come from.

And it was not a pretty one, from what JJ understood.

The one case that they had worked with Ambassador Prentiss had stamped a lasting impression on each member of their surrogate family. The woman was fierce, and brusque. She did not express any affection for her daughter at all, and that concept was entirely foreign to JJ, considering she'd grown up in the most perfectly annoying suburban household with two brothers and a dog and parents who would offer them the world if they were able. And Emily hadn't grown up with friends, even, to so much as attempt to fill the void that having an unloving parent had left.

JJ had spent so much time pondering over the relationship between mother and daughter (and noticing without Emily having to say so that it was strained, at best) that she had neglected to even ponder over the relationship that Emily had potentially shared with her father.

But it wasn't grief or sorrow that assailed Emily's features as she looked up at Hotch and blinked away her confusion; JJ was almost certain that it was some torrid mixture of guilt and relief. Of course, the emotions couldn't simply be restrained to those two items, because JJ saw that a tempest of emotions was brewing swiftly in the dark eyes of her colleague and friend, but those were the two that JJ most immediately identified.

And that, to her, was curious enough. After reading the letter that had been neatly composed for the agent, however, JJ was sure that there was something very dark hidden in the depths of Emily Prentiss' neatly organize mind, and the darker, older woman had seemingly guarded it with everything she had.

When Hotch quietly indicated via a brief moment of eye contact that he wanted JJ to take her downstairs, JJ moved forward to take his place as he leaned over the body of their close friend's father.

JJ touched Emily's elbow, but when Emily looked up, it was only to shake her head. "I'm okay," she said quietly. "It's just a surprise… I-I'm okay, really."

"Let me take you downstairs," JJ suggested softly. "Just for a minute, for some air. We can come back up after, okay?"

She felt weird coaxing a somewhat-lax Emily down the steps that she'd rushed so quickly up only moments before. As much as she hated to sound like Emily wasn't allowed to lose control of herself every now and then, like Hotch's stoicism, Emily's control was something that the team was centered around. She wanted to help her friend, she really did, but Emily had never put them in a position where they would be able, or even permitted to help her. JJ wasn't sure that she knew how.

So once they'd worked their way outside, both of them sitting on the stone front steps and looking out at the rubble that made up a construction site, she waited several paces before she asked, "Do you need anything, Em?"

It felt insufficient, somehow, because JJ knew that a lot of the things that Emily Prentiss needed weren't tangible or able to be quickly given to her, but she felt like she needed to express that she was willing to do something if Emily felt able to ask for it.

Hesitation flashed quickly through Emily's eyes, and JJ tried to pretend like she hadn't noticed it, but that indicated, to her, that there was something the agent wanted, but was afraid or nervous to ask for.

"Em?" JJ pried, her tone gentle and sympathetic. "I don't really know what you're going through… But I'm here – we're all here, if you need us. And we want to help. So if you think of anything that we can do for you, we just…. We want to help," JJ repeated, hoping to reinforce that one statement if nothing else, because it was so incredibly true.

Silence held the reigns of their mostly one-sided conversation for such a long time that JJ turned her head to stare out at their messy surroundings again. She could hear the faint chatter of the unis behind them, but the door had been shut after they had exited it, and she imagined that one of their team would keep the officers occupied long enough for the two of them to get the air that they needed.

"We weren't close, Jayje," Emily admitted, her voice barely there, yet something in it indicated that this would be a deeper conversation than JJ ever would have expected from her normally very private friend.

JJ shifted and turned to look at her. She waited to see if Emily would say anything else, but when she didn't, JJ asked a question that, she suspected, hid the secrets to those dark looks she'd seen upstairs. "Why?"

Emily flinched, and drew in a breath that seemed startled, despite that she'd set up this conversation herself – and JJ knew that, despite the whisper that Emily began this conversation with, she had very precisely mapped it out in her head before speaking at all.

"It's an incredibly long story," Emily murmured, refusing to tilt her head even a little bit in her blonde friend's direction.

"We have time," JJ replied slowly, "if you wanted to share it with me."

Emily paused again, and JJ really wasn't sure if she would ever hear the answer to her question, but she didn't want Emily to talk about it if she didn't think she would be able to cope with it. But when Emily carried on, JJ wasn't very surprised. There was very little that Emily Prentiss began that she wasn't willing to finish.

"When I was little, he was never really around – which I expected, you know? My parents were both politicians; he was a senator," Emily informed, catching the brief expression of befuddlement that crossed JJ's face from the corner of her eye, and answering to it accordingly. "I spent most of my time with the nannies and bodyguards. We moved around so often that I didn't really have friends, and there was a point when I just… stopped trying to make them, because it seemed such a pointless endeavor. So I got used to not spending time with them – my parents," Emily stuttered briefly, and that told JJ so much more than the steady tone that she delivered this story in.

"But when I was twelve – " Emily inhaled sharply here, and began again. "When I was twelve, we lived here in the city," Emily gestured a hand over the expanse in front of them. "And my father started acting strange. He'd uh… He'd come home from the office and kiss me goodnight. And, you know, I was just a kid," she laughed, somewhat self-deprecatingly. "I'd spent all my life trying to understand why I was never worth my parents' attention, asking myself what I could have done that would have caused them not to love me. I should have thought about – but I didn't, of course. I was just so happy that he was finally showing me somehow that I wasn't worthless," Emily spat.

JJ wanted to reach out to her, to hold her, because she could see that this, much more than the dead body upstairs, was upsetting her, and had been for a very, very long time. A tightly coiled, cruelly chilled knot in the pit of her stomach told JJ that she thought she knew where this was going, and it shattered her.

"Anyway, there was this one night where he uh – he started to crawl into my bed. I asked him what he was doing, of course, because I was tired and he'd never done anything quite so strange before. He said that it was late, and he didn't want to wake my mother – so, if it was alright, he was going to sleep with me."

The walls that Emily kept so firmly around her heart, her emotions, her life – they crumbled before the media liaison, and JJ's heart broke as she realized exactly why those walls had been fashioned.

"Oh, Em," she whispered thickly, her voice shrouded in the tears that JJ now realized were swimming down her flushed cheeks.

"I just… I didn't know what to do, Jayje," Emily continued, somewhat hysterical, and sounding so helpless. "I was only twelve, and he was my father. He said it was normal, and, God knows, I'd never known what a normal parent-child relationship should look like; I'd never even had friends that displayed it to me. But I should have known it wasn't – "

"Emily," JJ interceded, her voice careful, but confident, "this wasn't your fault."

Emily reeled away from her briefly, before she closed her eyes, and pleaded, "I need to finish. Please, JJ?"

JJ didn't say anything, because she didn't know what to say, or how to say it. So she reached forward, in a gesture that was eerily similar to what Emily had done for her when Penelope Garcia went into surgery for an entirely unexpected bullet wound, and grasped her hand. And JJ held on as tightly as she could grip, to support herself just as much as her friend.

"He touched me," Emily sobbed, but quickly reigned herself in enough to finish the story. "With the ambassador just down the hall. He touched me that night, and so many nights after, JJ. And then, at some point, that wasn't – It just wasn't enough," Emily cried quietly, and JJ wondered at how she wasn't breaking down in sobs, because God, that was all JJ knew that she wanted to do.

"I was thirteen, then," Emily said thickly. "The first time he decided to – that it was okay to rape me. And I just… I didn't even know that it wasn't right, but it hurt, and I let him do it, because I wanted him to love me, JJ. I just… I just wanted them to love me, and if I stopped, I knew he wouldn't care anymore, and so I just took it.

"And when I was just a few days past fourteen, my nanny heard a sound, I guess. And she came in, and she screamed and screamed, and all I remember is screaming, until suddenly all the lights were on and my mother was there, and my father was putting all of his clothes back on. They didn't even fight, Jayje… God, if I remember anything from all of it, I'll remember that. My mother didn't yell at him, and he never had to defend himself to anyone. She said that she had acquired an assignment overseas, and that she and I would be leaving in a couple of weeks. She said that he would stay at the house in New York, and they would tell anyone who asked that it was a sacrifice that they needed to make in order to maintain their respective careers.

"He followed my mother to their room, but neither of them made a sound. I know. I listened. When I saw the nanny the next day – she was also my tutor – she didn't even know what to say, and I was just so shocked and confused that I didn't even have time to feel embarrassed. I hadn't slept, and I was reeling with it all, and I asked her what was happening, and why she'd screamed so much. She cried, and she held her arms out to me, and she held me and rocked me back and forth while she explained that it wasn't right – that she should have taught me that it wasn't right, but it had just never occurred to her that I would need it. She asked me what had happened, and I told her, but she was so upset and I just didn't understand it. God, JJ, I never even cried."

There was a long pause then, where JJ didn't know what to say, and Emily contemplated adding to her story.

"I haven't seen him since then, when I was fourteen," Emily finished heavily, still unable to turn her head just a couple inches to see JJ's reaction.

JJ knew that she could act the role of the FBI agent that she was, and ask who else could have found out about it, and if the nanny ought to be looked at for the slew of murders across the city. JJ knew that was what she should do, from a purely professional perspective. But this was her friend – God damn it, this was a woman who, in all but blood, was her _sister_ – and she wouldn't do that when she could so clearly see that Emily needed something else from her entirely.

So JJ wrapped her arms around Emily's shoulders and rocked her back and forth, as her nanny had done more than twenty years before her. Only this time, Emily Prentiss was crying, and JJ imagined that she desperately needed to.

"You didn't know, Em," JJ comforted through her own fat, rolling tears, and with a voice that she was surprised was willing to emerge from her throat. "You didn't know. You shouldn't have had to tell him to stop; he knew it was wrong. He knew."

"I just wanted them to love me, Jennifer," Emily husked, her voice more broken and flooded with anguish than JJ had ever heard from anyone.

JJ's entire body throbbed painfully for the woman she held, as she continued to soothe her as best as she could. She'd dealt with psychopaths, sociopaths, arsonists, pedophiles, people who she doubted even had souls, but she'd never hated anyone as much as she hated the man who did this to her closest friend.

Because, indeed, Jennifer Jareau was not a profiler.

But she didn't need to be a profiler to see how deeply affected Emily Prentiss was by her childhood, and she didn't need to be a profiler to understand the significance of the fact that this was the first time she had cried, in the twenty plus years since the event, about the wrong that her father had done her. She didn't need to be a profiler to see just how broken Emily Prentiss was underneath those great shields that kept anything personal away from anyone who tried to see it.

JJ could only be grateful that Emily invested enough trust in her to finally share this with someone. She just wasn't sure that she knew how to help beyond holding her, and whispering whatever came to mind about how she'd done nothing wrong, and deserved far more than she'd ever received from either one of her parents. And, JJ realized with one final break to her heart, what she was doing for Emily was far beyond what anyone had done for the dark-haired agent in her entire life.

Funny, JJ thought ironically, mentally condemning everyone who had been apart of Emily's life until now, because she felt entirely useless doing it.


	5. CHAPTER FOUR: THE PRONOUN 'I'

_**Author's Note: **__I'm so glad that so many of you stuck through the last chapter. I hope this one's just as good, but it is significantly less dark, I promise you. Thank you guys so much for all of your positive responses. Keep them up, if you're willing!_

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CHAPTER FOUR: THE PRONOUN 'I'

"Father?" Morgan shook his head. "C'mon, man, that's gotta be rough."

"Somehow, I don't think she felt it was a great loss," Rossi murmured, his brows drawn together as he stared in the direction of the staircase that Emily and JJ had just more or less stumbled down, Emily's footing less than stellar.

"What makes you say that?" Reid asked, brows furrowed over dark eyes, and hands shoved deep inside his pockets. "She seemed adequately upset to me, considering."

"Upset?" Rossi snorted, the wrinkles in his forehead an ever-present reminder of his concern for their female colleague. "Yeah, I'd agree with that, kid. But I didn't exactly get the feeling that she was drowning in sorrow over there."

"Enough," Hotch determined finally. "Let's get what we need, and then see about Prentiss when we can afford the time."

He winced internally. Hotch liked to believe that he would always make time for the important things, and Emily Prentiss was inarguably important, not just to him, but for all of them. He hadn't meant to sound cruel by implying that none of them had the time to worry about her, and further, he definitely understood their concerns. The problem was that he'd be lying through his teeth if he said that checking on her wasn't forefront in his mind. And if they kept discussing how potentially damaged she was by this, Hotch wasn't sure that he'd be capable of keeping himself from rushing down to ensure her safety (both emotional and physical) and offering whatever he could to lift her spirits. It wasn't that he felt as though he owed her, but she had been his one pillar of stability as he fought through the sea of sentiments that assailed him after Haley's death, and he wanted to be the same for her.

He hadn't really wanted to send Emily away with JJ, but he knew with every certainty available that Emily would not have approved of him turning away from the case in order to coddle her. It was one thing if JJ, her nearest friend, took her outside for a breather; that, to the entire team, really, was normal. But if Hotch had tried to escort her, he knew he would have run into a furious brick wall that shadowed her from any emotional aspect of this case at all.

That certainly wasn't what he wanted. As much as he, for reasons unknown, wanted to be her sole confidante, he had a greater desire to see that she had everything that she needed. And right now, Hotch was certain that JJ was it, so he wouldn't stand in the way of that. But that didn't stop the sick feeling that churned in the pit of his stomach, indicating that, indeed, something was very, very wrong with his compassionate and private agent. With that feeling boiling low within him, Hotch couldn't quite feel entirely settled with his decision not to affirm with his own two eyes that she was alright.

But before he could do that, he had to focus his attention on the crime scene, and be extra sure to give it the attention that it warranted, because he knew his thoughts were rather flighty at the moment. He imagined that his thoughts would remain that way until this case was finished. Whether Prentiss was grieving over her father or not – and Hotch was inclined to agree with Dave in regards to Emily's apparent emotions about her father – he cared very much for his agent, and would worry for and concern himself over her state of wellbeing. Because she wasn't just his agent, she was his friend.

And that was exactly what Emily was to him. She was, Hotch realized in that moment, the closest friend he had.

But the world continued to rotate despite Hotch's somewhat startling epiphany, and his team interrupted the silence that had conquered following his demands that they focus. Which was incredibly ironic, Hotch thought, as that was precisely what he himself had _not_ been doing.

"It's fairly obvious from the letter that the best place to start is with Emily," Reid announced reluctantly, after surveying the scene and irritably noting that it was almost identical to the others, despite the supposed personal investment involved in this murder.

"Just feels wrong," Morgan put his hands on his head briefly as he turned his back on them. "I know what it's like to have to turn up personal secrets for a case."

It was the first time that he had ever heard Morgan bring up the case in Chicago, no matter how vague it was in nature. Because of that, and because of a plethora of other ethical standards, Hotch understood Morgan's compunctions about questioning Emily and digging through her past, but what choice did they have?

"Let's see what Jareau's got to say first," Rossi suggested sagely. "Emily was pretty shaken up when she left here, and the two of them are thick as thieves. JJ might be able to shed some light on the situation before we have to put Em through anything else – at least for the night, while it all settles in."

Hotch despairingly hoped that Emily had shared something of value with the press coordinator, because the last thing he wanted to do right now was rattle Emily even further. He knew her past wasn't a good one. He'd worked with the Ambassador, and even he, as a mere employee, had felt chilled by her constant air of dismissal. He didn't want to drag up any memories of her childhood that didn't need to resurface, but he somehow got the feeling that this case would end up exposing every significant nuance of Emily's past.

He flinched, visibly this time, as he knew how sacred Emily's privacy was to her. This thing had the potential to ruin her; it would make her feel vulnerable and weak – two things that Emily Prentiss _hated_ to be – and he wasn't sure if she'd be able to recover from that, if it were to occur.

Shaking his head, though, Hotch reminded himself that none of that had happened yet (and it might not happen), and he forced himself to recall that Emily Prentiss had always proven stronger than anyone could hope to give her credit for. If something about this case did impact her that severely, she would recover. They would make sure of it.

Whether she understood it or not, she had become apart of the BAU family, and if nothing else, this team protected and cared for their own.

The male members of the team moved away from the body to speak with the lead detective, who paled at the contents of the letter that their agent had received. The tired, scruffy detective looked at them hesitantly, a glint of something unpleasant festering in his green eyes.

"This guy's killing because of your agent?"

"I don't necessarily think that's the case," Reid shook his head, but barely paused before continuing. "The letter focuses on the pronoun 'I' far too frequently for the UNSUB's sole motivation to be Emily. There's great emphasis placed on the idea that the UNSUB wanted this murder for Emily's sake, and yet he professes that he isn't finished killing yet. Presumably, if this were for Emily, this would be the only murder that he would need to commit. But he also killed several others beforehand, and said that 'they were all guilty, and deserved some sort of punishment.' The other victims never did anything to Emily, so those are all victims that the UNSUB chose with some personal incentive. Whatever happened with Emily was, as the letter reads, more than twenty years ago. Something much more recent triggered this for our UNSUB, and Emily's past was evidently just an afterthought."

"If that's true," Rossi wondered quizzically, "then why bother with the letter? He's been incredibly meticulous with all of his crime scenes thus far. Why leave a letter that could potentially incriminate him?"

"Maybe he feels guilty," Morgan suggested, shrugging. "I mean, the guy seemed pretty remorseful in the letter, at least on the surface."

"I think he's _deluded_ himself into thinking that he did all of this for Emily," Reid explained hesitantly. "He spends a great amount of time apologizing to her, and he desperately pleads for her forgiveness. But despite what he's told himself, the only kill he would really need would be her father's, if Emily is the only person he's attempting to vindicate."

"Well, that's much more of a profile than we had to begin with," Hotch nodded firmly. "You guys head back to the precinct and work on the profile from this standpoint. I'll check on Emily and JJ and see what can be done on that front."

Hotch hoped he'd given the two women enough time to converse uninterrupted. He didn't know if Emily's expression had been one of anguish or something else entirely when she stepped outside of the crime scene, but he was enough of a profiler to understand that it was a very strong, negative emotion that had nestled in her eyes.

He swiftly cleared the bottom step, and moved toward the door. His eyes immediately scanned for the two women, but they appeared to be waiting on the far side of the black SUV, and Hotch could only assume that they hoped to maintain whatever discretion they were able.

The phone in his pocket rang as he made his first steps in the direction of his female agents. "Hotch," he answered briskly.

"I just heard about the latest victim," Garcia's stricken, morose voice struck his ear, and he internally sighed. "Derek said you were driving JJ and Emily. Have you seen her? How's she holding up? I – "

"Garcia," Hotch said, his voice stern, because he knew she needed it to reassure her of his confidence in what he was about to say, "Emily is going to alright. I'm walking toward them now. I haven't spoken with Emily just yet, but I'll have her or JJ call you as soon as they are able. But she's going to be alright," he reinforced with apparent ease, but he had to consciously remind himself that he wasn't lying to the blonde computer genius. Emily _would_ be alright.

"Okay," the usually-cheerful-but-now-fretful tech analyst worried. "But let her know that I'm here if she needs anything at all."

"I will, Garcia. I'm sure she'll appreciate it," Hotch said. And he knew that Emily would. Emily was never one to take such things for granted; the support of her friends would mean more than the world to her.

The call ended, but Hotch was sure that he could almost feel the despair still vibrating from inside of his pocket in dark, heavy waves. They all needed Emily to know that they would support her, and Hotch needed to be sure that support was exactly what she received, whether she rejected it or not.

He wouldn't put it past her to stubbornly refuse their assistance on a lot of things. She was entirely capable of doing things herself, after all. But Hotch knew it would definitely make _them_ feel better if they were able to help her out in any way.

The unit chief braced himself as he neared the SUV, and as he caught his first glimpse of the two talented agents, he felt his heart suffering greatly. The faces of both women were muddled with tears, JJ's face flushed, and, alternately, Emily's utterly pale. The door of the SUV was open, Emily sitting on the seat inside, turned toward her blonde friend, and JJ, in front of her, held onto her hand so tightly that her knuckles were white.

"Do you need anything, Emily?" Hotch softly inquired, determined not to let either of them see that it affected him dearly to see them so dreadfully upset.

She laughed shortly, and Hotch couldn't quite discern if it was bitter or not. She shook her head gently, and said, "No, but thank you. I'll be okay, Hotch."

Hotch inclined his head minimally, and forced a small smile. "You know, the profiler in me can't help but notice that you didn't say you _are_ okay, but that you will be."

JJ's free hand rose to stroke Emily's loose hair behind her ear, but the media liaison continued the circle repeatedly. Once her fingers reached the ends of Emily's hair, they extended back up to the roots to sift through the dark silk again, and again.

"Very well done, Agent Hotchner," Emily said, a ghost of a smile coloring her lips. "I'll be sure a gold star makes its way onto your work for the day."

"I prefer the blue stars, actually," he replied gently, his eyes softening as he realized that, no, she wasn't okay – but she wasn't lying when she said that she would be.

"Whatever you want," Emily breathed on a sigh, clearly exhausted.

They were quiet for several moments, where JJ seemed too worked up to speak, Emily too exhausted, and Hotch far more interested in evaluating the situation to spare words.

JJ's eyes continued to drip with tears, and as much as he hated that, he was happy to know that Emily had shared whatever had happened twenty years ago with their communications coordinator. Emily's entire being seemed to have deflated in their time apart from the group, but he would be patient and wait for an acceptable time to ask JJ about the 'why.' He was deeply concerned for both of them.

"Hotch," Emily whispered brokenly, and cleared her throat, beginning again with a quiver in her voice that Hotch elected not to mention, "I think it's generally agreed upon that I can't work this case due to conflicts of interest. And," she laughed here, and this time Hotch was quickly able to discern that there was self-deprecation hidden in that laugh, "I'm clearly not in a state to be working it anyway. If it's okay with you, I'd like to go to back to the hotel. I need a shower. And I know you need to find out about that letter, but if you and JJ agree, I'd really prefer that you get everything you can from her. I just – I don't want to talk about it anymore."

He'd been set on giving her anything she wanted from the get-go – anything at all that he was able to give. And he still intended to do that for her, if nothing else. But the haunted look in her eyes frightened him and, although it was his job, he was decidedly reluctant to speak with JJ about anything dealing with this situation at all. From the reactions around him – God knew, Emily Prentiss didn't cry in front of anyone if it could be helped, let alone in public, while in a professional setting – whatever he was about to learn would probably shatter a part of his soul that Aaron Hotchner wasn't sure he was ready to give up.


	6. CHAPTER FIVE: TEARS OF THE PACIFIC

_**Author's Note: **_ _There isn't much dialog in this one, guys, but don't worry… Next chapter will be mostly Hotch and Em, and I promise lots of words will be exchanged. I hope you enjoy the new installment, and don't forget to review!

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CHAPTER FIVE: TEARS OF THE PACIFIC

JJ couldn't think properly. And somewhere through the muddled, fuzzy fog that surrounded all of her knowledge, she knew that was ridiculous. It wasn't her overwhelming past that was about to be revealed to their boss (and later, their whole team). It wasn't her father's body that had been found with his insides literally exposed and wrapping around the corpse like some twisted sort of halo.

But it was her friend who was hurting, and it devastated JJ to know why.

She couldn't wrap her mind around it. JJ couldn't fathom someone cold enough, cruel enough, sadistic enough, _whatever_ enough to do something so morally reprehensible to such a small, innocent child. A child who had so desperately yearned for nothing but affection and love from the two people that had brought her into this dark world.

The blonde woman tightened her hand around Emily's again, as she'd been doing intermittently for the past two hours.

Emily's dark head turned toward her friend, and she smiled brokenly, but JJ could see that the tears hadn't yet stopped tripping down her face. Now that she thought about it, JJ's own tears still leaked from her eyes like water faucets, and she felt terrible, because she was certain that she'd cried almost as much, if not more than Emily had, and something about that just seemed so wrong.

JJ could see Hotch's dark eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, as they'd done almost ritually since they'd begun the drive to the hotel. He was worried and impatient, but willing to wait until Emily was preoccupied and out of earshot to discuss this. JJ could see the V of his brow deepen with every passing moment, and she wished she could tell him to stop agonizing for just a few more minutes; just a few more minutes, because soon, he wouldn't be able to afford himself any time at all. Soon, JJ would have to tell him what had been disclosed to her, and while she had been heartbroken and concerned, she knew that Hotch would be, in addition to those things, protective and rampantly furious – and with Emily's father already inhumanely out of the picture, Hotch wouldn't have the outlet for that emotion that he would have hoped for.

When they arrived at the hotel, JJ marveled over she and Emily's room. It was exactly as they'd left it. JJ wondered at how so much could stay the same when everything in her world had shifted off its only correct axis. Everything felt distended and detached, and the only thing that connected all of the pieces together was a thin string of unspeakable sorrow and anguish.

When Emily released her hand to retrieve clothes and her hairbrush, JJ felt hollow inside. She knew it was selfish of her when Emily was the one suffering, but she felt like she needed that small, intimate contact with her closest friend to know that she was okay, and to be reminded that despite all that she'd been through as a child, she had grown up into a loving, caring, and passionate adult.

Emily didn't say a word as she slipped into the bathroom, and JJ imagined it was because there were no words necessary. They knew what this was. She was giving herself an opportunity to collect her thoughts and to try to put her infamous walls back in place, and she was giving them the time and permission that they needed to discuss her past and the case that had brought them to this wretched city to begin with.

JJ found that she wanted this over with almost as much as she was sure Emily did.

"Sit down, Hotch," she said quietly, and even with her voice low and barely-there, it rasped with her reluctance and grief.

She could see a brief flare of stubbornness flash through his eyes as he, based on principle alone, felt the desire to reject her softly spoken demand. She also watched as he tamed it and followed the order as requested, understanding that this was an out of the ordinary situation.

"JJ, I understand if you need a minute to – "

JJ interrupted his offer, shaking her head immediately, whispering thickly, "No. These tears won't be going anywhere for a few days, Hotch, and I can't – " her first sob fell from her lips unfettered. She continued quickly, her words rushed and adamant, "I can't be responsible for considering the repercussions that this has caused where our case is concerned. I can't – I'm not thinking straight, Hotch. It's all just so _wrong_," she spat angrily, her tears, which had never stopped to begin with, flooded from startlingly blue eyes.

"Tell me," Hotch requested, his voice solemn and his mouth set in a determined line, but his eyes were gentle and encouraging.

JJ listened to him. Once she started, she couldn't stop. She shared everything that Emily had told her about her depraved father and her uncaring mother, about the nanny that held her, and their subsequent move to Italy. She told Hotch that Emily's parents hadn't even divorced, and about the fact that Emily had never, before today, even grieved for the loss of her innocence – a loss that had occurred in far vaster ways than just the physical. And she told Hotch that all that Emily had ever wanted from them was their love, and even that request had been dismissed and denied to her.

And JJ was sure that she shed enough tears to fill the Pacific Ocean four times over.

Hotch shook his head. "No," he hissed violently. "No. Not Emily."

She had expected a lot of things from him, she admitted, but denial certainly hadn't been a thing that she would ever have pegged Aaron Hotchner for.

The normally composed man stood and paced the length of the room, and JJ's sobs continued to blow past her parted lips as she watch his shoulders fall dejectedly, and his face crumble with realization and torment.

Oh, God, everything in this world was _wrong_.

And it wasn't fair – JJ knew it wasn't, because he'd scarcely been given time to understand the words that she'd spoken, let alone allow them to digest – but the noise from the shower halted both her sobs and the dark man's harried steps to and from the curtained window above the air conditioning system.

When Emily emerged only moments later, she sported a pair of flannel pajama pants and a tank top, and JJ wondered at the ensemble. She wasn't a profiler, but she knew that those clothes had very deliberately been chosen from her go bag moments before. And something inside of JJ told her that Emily felt vulnerable, and was trying to shade the fact that she was absolutely terrified of that by embracing it and, at the very least, trying to make it appear as thought she didn't _care_ that she was vulnerable.

It didn't work, because they all knew – and they all would feel the same way. But JJ admired the strength behind the effort anyways. It didn't matter that her eyes still watered or that her face was drawn and pale. She was the strongest person that JJ knew, and nothing, especially not this, would change that.

She flicked her eyes over to Hotch, whose former expression of absolute brokenness had dissolved into confusion and care and something else that JJ just couldn't quite name.

"I've uh – I've tried to remember anyone else… anyone else who worked in the New York house at the time, and I can't – I mean, I remember the cook and the chauffer, but it was so long ago, Hotch, and I'm just – I'm so sorry. I tried so hard to not think – I wanted to forget it," her lips and voice quivered, and more tears tumbled down her cheeks as she avoided Hotch's eyes, somehow certain that she would face his disappointment. "And it was twenty-four years ago," she rushed to explain herself, shaking her head quickly. "That's no excuse – I ought to remember. I ought to, and I'm trying, Hotch, but – "

And somehow the unit chief was in front of her nearest friend, his arms folded around her waist, cradling Emily against him. She heard the rumble of his voice, low and comforting and soft, but she couldn't understand the words, and somehow understood that she wasn't meant to. Those words were for Emily, and Emily alone. JJ suddenly felt like she was intruding on something very private and intimate, and wanted to leave.

The sobs that wracked through Emily's body quadrupled whatever JJ had felt plagued by moments before, and her pale, slim fingers bunched at the lapels of Hotch's suit jacket, grasping onto him for everything she was worth.

JJ nearly ran to the door, sliding down the wall outside of the hotel room, feeling sick to her stomach and needing to leave the two of them alone, needing to get away from what she was seeing, and all that she'd been hearing and speaking and _breathing_ for the past three hours of her life.

Oh, God, she knew it was selfish of her to need someone for herself right now, but she needed something innocent and sweet to remind her that the world couldn't all be so scary, so dirty, and so fucking heartbreaking. She needed there to be something good. She needed Garcia, and she needed Garcia _here_.

It hadn't ever been her responsibility to decide if and when the technical analyst travelled with or to them, but she was making an executive decision now. They all needed this. They all needed to be together, this time, and she knew – knew with all of her heart – that Penelope Garcia could not and would not handle this well all alone in her bunker at Quantico.

She pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her coat with trembling fingers and shakily dialed the familiar number with an area code from some home that she should be very acquainted with, but it felt so far away from anything that she remembered.

"How is my raven-haired beauty, Jayje?" She heard immediately, and the voice made her sob.

"Oh," Garcia gasped, and JJ heard something drop that sounded like a pen. "Oh, no. No, no, Jayje, tell me what's wrong."

"We need you, Pen," JJ heaved a breath in, and then several more, begging her sobs to quell themselves at least long enough to finish this conversation. "We need you here. It's so," she sobbed again, deciding that her previous request had been far too much. "It's so bad, Pen, and we need you here."

She knew that she was being cruel to Penelope, but it wasn't intentional; she just couldn't make words, and everything in her head just fused together and didn't make any sense. She just needed all of them. She needed all of her family here, together, and she knew that Emily needed it, too. She knew how Emily valued her family and relied on them; even if Emily never let them actively help her, she relied on them being themselves to get her through her rough days and, God, these days would be the roughest, and she would do anything, anything at _all_ in her power, to make them smoother for her best friend.

"JJ, my sweet girl, I need you to talk to me," Garcia's voice quivered. "I'm worried, and you know how I can't stand to worry so much when my superheroes are gallivanting in foreign cities and I'm all alone here in cyberspace."

"Oh, God, Pen," JJ breathed, feeling desperately deprived of oxygen, but unable to stop her sobs. "Her father – her own _father_! He raped her, Pen," JJ cried uncontrollably. "And she – she hasn't cried! But she's crying now, Pen, and it won't stop, and it's so – " another howl of sadness intercepted her words again, "And she just wanted them to _love_ her, Pen, and they never did. They never loved her. And she's fucking broken, Penelope. She's _broken_." She prayed that Garcia understood, despite her frantic sobs and her vulgarity, and the missing gaps that would have made the story whole. "And we need you here," she ended finally, barely able to breathe, let alone speak through the haze of misery that had settled down around her.

"I'll be there in hours, sugar," Garcia promised.

JJ could hear the thickness that whispered of tears, but she prayed desperately that Garcia would land before it all sank in – and she hoped it wouldn't sink in until she actually saw Emily personally – because she didn't want Garcia to feel what she was feeling while on a plane over the United States. She needed family. They all needed family.

She texted the pilot of the BAU jet and demanded that he immediately return to Quantico for the final member of their team. When she received a response in the affirmative, promising a speedy flight there and back, JJ put her head down on her knees and cried.


	7. CHAPTER SIX: SURRENDER

CHAPTER SIX: SURRENDER

Emotions raged within him before any fluid thoughts could struggle to the surface. JJ had cried and rushed through the story of Emily's past, and the information snuggled into a deep corner of his brain to be saved for further processing at a later time. But, heaven help him, he didn't know what to do with it now.

He couldn't imagine it. He didn't fucking _want_ to imagine it. Not his Emily – and he would assess that particular possessive pronoun at a later time, too. He couldn't picture Emily in her own bedroom, with her own father atop her, feeling that absolute coward of a man move above her in ways that she couldn't possibly have understood.

Hotch didn't know when he'd leapt from his seat, and couldn't remember the last words that JJ had uttered before he was up, pacing the length of the floor. He was furious. Incredulous. He was in _awe_ of the wonderful woman who had somehow become an integral part of his oh-so-messed-up life.

But God and every other deity above knew that such a compassionate, sweet, caring woman didn't deserve what that sadistic bastard had done to her. And Aaron Hotchner certainly knew it.

Below those emotions, though, Hotch was cognizant of one vital thing: his heart burned feverishly with something far beyond his current range of comprehension. Every fiber of him hurt for her, for all that she had suffered through, and all that she had come from. His blood boiled with vehemence that he had no idea what to do with. And his heart just burned desperately for something he couldn't at all understand.

Hotch never heard the shower stop running, but he was jarred from his stupor of swirling emotions by the sudden absence of JJ's sobs. He didn't know how long he'd run the length of the small hotel room, and didn't care to know. He spent the following two minutes trying to control any outward expression of his emotions, and held his breath as his agent emerged from the bathroom.

And fuck if Aaron Hotchner didn't lose every single piece of the already unsteady façade that he'd just deigned to put into place. Nothing that anyone said would ever justify what had been done to the fantastic woman before him. Nothing. But it had happened, and she was hurting – and, God, so was he – and she needed them. Emily needed them.

He'd barely noticed that she'd started speaking.

"… And it was twenty-four years ago. That's no excuse – I ought to remember. I ought to, and I'm trying, Hotch, but – "

Hotch certainly hadn't realized that she'd been talking to him, but despite the bomb of emotions that had just detonated within him, he understood that she was looking for something from him. And this… Well, this he could do.

He was in front of her in two strides. Hotch didn't know what made him think that it was okay to hold her, but instinctively he wanted to; he needed to. And he did. He wrapped his arms around her and murmured words in her ear that he couldn't remember ever reading, but suddenly seemed so appropriate.

"_It takes strength to conquer,"_ Hotch rasped roughly, trying to force smoothness into his voice that he didn't feel at all equipped with. _"It takes courage to surrender."_

He had no idea if it had been the right or wrong thing to say, but sobs crushed from her mouth immediately after, and he could feel her hot breath on his neck with each one. Emily's whole body trembled in his arms, and he felt her fingers clutch desperately at the lapels of his suit jacket.

Hotch never noticed JJ's departure, and he wasn't concerned with it. He didn't know what else he whispered into Emily's ear, but he felt her knees give in a few moments later and he all but carried her distraught, weakened body to the bed behind them, setting her in his lap and holding her as tightly to him as he could.

"Hotch," she gasped, the breath she drew in making an almost barking sound in her throat, and echoing cruelly in his ears, "what did I do wrong?"

Hotch hated to see her this way. He hated that she looked so broken, and that so much hurt was radiating from her in ways that he could never have imagined. But, damn it, he would do all that he could to make it recede.

"Nothing," he hissed angrily, forcing an inhalation of breath to calm himself. "You were a child, Emily. A mere child."

"I was twelve," she shook her head quickly, her fingers grasping for his clothing tighter, apparently needing to ground herself somehow. "I should have stopped him. I should have known better. I should have – "

"You should have _had_ better," Hotch growled. "You always should have had better."

"No, I wasn't good enough, Hotch," Emily whimpered, tears and her soaked hair dampening his entire front. "I wasn't good enough, even then. Even while he was doing it, Hotch, I just – He was furious. He was always angry, and he'd tell me to do better, to be better at it, to be better at everything. I was never – I never did it right, Hotch," shaking her head more, and pleading with him to understand what she was saying. "I couldn't ever give him – them," she corrected, an utterly damaged noise escaping her red lips, "I couldn't ever give them what they – what they wanted. I was never," another sob broke her speech, "I was never good enough."

That son-of-a-fucking-bitch had the nerve, the absolute gall to rape his own _daughter_ and tell her that she wasn't _good enough at it?_

Hotch shook his head, trying to shake the fiery emotions from his mind and barely managing to push them back long enough not to launch upward and scream his wrath to the heavens.

"You are perfection," he growled into her ear, fearful that he might frighten her, but not able to calm his tone or anything else any further. "That man," Hotch laughed somewhat maniacally, "if you could even _think_ to call him one," he pressed onward with rage, "abused you, Emily Prentiss. He abused everything you ever gave him. He abused the love that you had for him, and your fierce desire to feel that love in return – and, fuck, Emily, you deserved their love, if nothing else. He abused your trust – a trust that he'd never done a damn thing to earn, and a trust that you generously granted to him, anyways. He abused you physically, he abused you emotionally, and he abused you on a basic, intrinsic level that should never be forgiven. But do not," he intoned passionately, "do not _ever _think that you are at fault for any of that, Emily."

Hotch's hand rose to the back of her head, holding it gently against his neck as he felt her sobs intensify. He soothed circles against her back with his opposite hand, and his eyes stung with tears that tried to claw their way outward, but Hotch refused them access. He needed to be strong for her; he would release the anger, the desperation, the anguish, and every other emotion that plagued him later. But now, right now, Emily needed him, and he would be there for her as she had always been there for him.

"Hotch," she whispered brokenly, "I don't know what to do. I don't know how," she sobbed again, "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be – to be this. I can't put it away," she gasped again, oxygen having long ago deserted her, "I can't put it away. I can't put it back in its box, Hotch. I don't know how. I don't know how to do this."

"You have help, Emily," he assured her strongly, and that much he was absolutely certain of.

"But I can't," she shook her head again. "I can't think, or breathe, or stand, or – " breaths evaded her, then, and she choked over a sob. "God, Hotch, I have to make funeral arrangements and call my mother and deal with the will and handle all of the properties that he owned and – "

"Emily," he interceded, furious that she thought she had to do all of that for a man who had done absolutely nothing for her throughout her entire life, "you don't have to do anything. You need to do whatever it is that will help you get through this. You're not expected to act or behave in any way at all. Everyone here only wants what's absolutely best for you."

"No, you don't – you can't understand, Hotch," Emily wailed, and Hotch knew that absolutely heartbroken noise would haunt him until his dying day. "She'll be infuriated if I – if I don't. She's going to be so – so angry with me for letting this happen," Emily's words fell from her mouth in a rushed exhale. "The papers, Hotch," her fingers held tighter to his jacket, and he saw the digits pale even further, "the papers are going to know about this. The Ambassador – she's going to be livid."

"Emily, stop," he pleaded with her. "Stop, and listen to me. You don't need to be worrying about your mother. We'll do what we can to take care of that, and we'll do everything we can to help you, alright? All I need you to do is focus on yourself."

"I'm so sorry, Hotch," Emily whispered thickly, and he felt a particularly great rush of tears against his neck. "I'm so sorry that I'm doing this to you. You don't deserve – " She cut herself off with another shake of her head and a sob, "You don't deserve this, and I'm so, so sorry."

He didn't have to think about the words that followed. "I want to be here, Emily. I want to be here, doing whatever I can for you. God knows you've done the same for me countless times. Let me help you, Emily," he delivered the line emphatically. "I _want_ to help you, however you'll let me. However I can."

Her ragged breaths and sobs filled the room for what felt like an eternity to Hotch, but he'd lost all concept of time, and it seemed irrelevant now. Hotch's big hands stroked over the back of her head and drew patterns over her back.

"What can I do, Em?" He whispered, his voice breaking halfway through as he identified that burning feeling invading his heart as grief for a woman that he cared very deeply for.

"You're doing it," she muttered back, wrapping one arm around his neck and hugging him tightly to her.

It didn't feel like enough. He didn't know of anything else that he could be doing, but that didn't matter. He felt like his efforts were inadequate, because she was still so clearly upset. But if that was what she wanted, and as long as he couldn't think of anything that would be able to help her further, then this was exactly what he would do.

Hotch squeezed her more tightly against him and kissed the crown of her head, leaving his lips against her still-damp hair. "You're perfect, Emily," he whispered, tears breaking through the shield that he'd valiantly erected and gliding down his paled cheeks.

He heard another of her self-deprecating laughs break through the long stream of sobs, but he shook his head as he felt her lips move against his neck, attempting to deny his words. "Perfect," he emphasized, breathing her in and feeling the absolute life that he held in his arms.

Emily Prentiss was broken, and hurt, and she had every right to be. But Hotch would not let her go through this devastating time alone, casting stones at herself for the misdeeds of a pedophilic, sociopathic asshole and his apparently unfeeling wife.

"Thank you, Aaron," the dark-haired agent rasped into his skin.

And, ridiculous as it was for such an incredibly inappropriate time, warmth surged through him as his name fell from her mouth with that deliciously cultured voice.

"Don't thank me, Emily," he insisted. "This is what we do for the people we care about."

He would show her how it felt to be loved and cared for; not because she had never had it before, but because she deserved it, and because she was such a delightful individual who filled others with her warmth and kindheartedness. Hotch would show her love, if nothing else.

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_**Author's Note:** The quote is Sylvia Kelly. I thought it was appropriate. Feed me with reviews, please._


	8. CHAPTER SEVEN: MORE IMPORTANT THINGS

CHAPTER SEVEN: MORE IMPORTANT THINGS

Emily rested on the bed, her hands clutching her cell phone and folded over her stomach as she stared at the pattern-less ceiling above. She needed to get up; she had enough things to take care of to occupy a moderately sized task force, and the sooner she could get it all finished, the better.

But all of that had to start with a phone call to her mother. A phone call that she did not at all want to make, and, to be honest, it was a phone call that she wasn't sure she could handle – at least not with the adequate amount of composure that her mother would expect of her.

She had to make the call, of course. Firstly, and obviously, because her mother needed to be informed about the death of her husband, even if their marriage was, by now, a mere technicality. Secondly, she'd told Hotch and JJ as they'd left that she would be okay alone, and that she needed time to figure out exactly how she would explain her father's death to the brisk woman that was her mother, and how much of the investigation she really intended to share with the woman.

In reality, though, Emily knew that there wasn't much of the investigation that she _could_ keep from the Ambassador. It simply wasn't possible to disguise the fact that Andrew Prentiss had been murdered, particularly considering that, in hours, it would be plastered all over every local and national newspaper available.

The tricky part was that she knew, with absolute certainty, that as soon as she revealed to her mother the contents of the letter left at the crime scene, her mother would be furious. After all, Elizabeth Prentiss had gone to every extreme to ensure that there was not an additional soul on this Earth who knew about what her husband had done to their only daughter. Emily would never have been able to prove it, but she was certain that every employee who had potentially heard anything about the incident that the nanny had intruded on had either been paid a larger-than-substantial amount to keep their mouths shut about it, or they had been threateningly informed that with a few well placed words in a poor review, Elizabeth Prentiss could ruin their current and future careers at the drop of a hat.

The letter that had been left at the scene and its connection to the recent murders wouldn't be kept quiet, and Emily knew it. It was now an integral part of the investigation. There was no chance at all that this would be kept from the papers, and that would tarnish her mother's reputation.

The Ambassador was going to be livid.

Emily took a deep, shaky breath. She could still feel her eyes watering, and she knew that they were still sore and nearly swollen shut from tears that simply refused to quit materializing. She knew it was ridiculous. She'd lived with this truth of her past for more than twenty years now. It didn't make any sense that it would suddenly touch her so strongly now.

But Emily hadn't understood it, then. She hadn't known what was happening, and immediately after it happened, she and her mother had spent a great deal of time tiptoeing around the fact that it _had_ happened. After that discussion with her nanny, she had never spoken of it again; she had been more or less trained not to, after a stern conversation with her mother that morning, strictly forbidding her from mentioning it to anyone.

And, as often happens with victims of tragic crimes, she'd tried to shove it away and bury it. It had worked, too. Emily knew her compartmentalization skills were some of the best in the world, and she wasn't always proud of it, but using them then, at that young age, had been expected of her. With so many years of not speaking of the abuse, and an equal number of years ignoring the fact that it had ever happened, she'd essentially forgotten that it had.

She'd erased two years of her life, and Emily thought that should have been the end of it. But this UNSUB, whoever he was, had studied the barely-remaining, faint lines that the eraser simply couldn't undo, and he had dug a sharp pen into those lines, heavily retracing everything that she'd fought so hard to delete, and doing so in a way that could not be erased a second time.

Emily sighed, closing her aching eyes and clenching the phone tighter in her palm. Thinking this over wasn't going to make this phone call any easier. In fact, she was really only upsetting herself further, at the moment. Her mind was a dangerous and frightening mess; after JJ and Garcia returned (which would be an hour or so from now, if Emily was lucky), she was going to hold onto them and appreciate them for supporting her, and she was also going to refuse to let them go.

As much as Emily hated to be weak and needy, she was certain that right now, she was exactly that. Although she still wasn't alright with being either of those things, she knew that she really wasn't okay, and she didn't want to be without her friends, as selfish of her as that might be.

She lifted the phone with trembling hands, and searched her contacts for her mother. She didn't keep in touch with the Ambassador nearly enough to have the overseas number memorized.

The man who answered the phone spoke rapid French in a deep, smooth voice that, Emily assumed, was meant to encourage patience when callers were placed on hold, or were asked to leave a message. Elizabeth was generally a very busy woman, and very rarely was able to take calls immediately.

Emily replied in French as well, albeit much more slowly, as it had been many years since she'd had to practice the language. She identified herself as the Ambassador's daughter and informed her mother's secretary that it was very urgent, and couldn't wait. Moments later, her call had been redirected to her mother's office.

"Ambassador Prentiss."

"Mother, it's Emily," she said quietly. "Something important has come up. You need to fly back to the States as soon as possible."

"Emily," the Ambassador's voice was sharp and admonishing, "you know I'm unable to leave my post on such short notice. I'm in the middle of something very important. I can't – "

"I'm working a case in New York," Emily interrupted quickly, needing this call to be over with as soon as possible, "and your husband became one of the victims of a serial killer who has thus far eliminated a number of politicians in the city. He's dead, Mother."

"Is this some sort of ploy, Emily?" Elizabeth sighed, and Emily could imagine her removing her glasses impatiently and continuing. "Very well, I'll play your little game. What do you need, Emily?"

Need? Did her mother really think she'd fake something like this because she needed to ask her for a favor? Emily closed her eyes, and felt her breath hitch, but she forced herself to breathe normally. She couldn't break down until she was off the phone.

"I don't need anything, Mother," Emily denied, and swallowed heavily. "He was found at a construction site this morning," she mercifully elected not to disclose the exact state of her husband's corpse. "My team is handling the case, now. You should fly into New York as soon as you're able."

There was a long pause from the other end of the line, before Emily heard a cold voice reply, "Very well. I have several important meetings through most of the week, however. I won't be able to arrive until Saturday evening, at the earliest."

It was Tuesday, Emily thought, so she would need to arrange for the funeral to be sometime on Sunday.

"Mother, there's something else you should know," Emily began roughly. "The UNSUB – that's what we call the killer when we work cases like these – knows something about," Emily heaved in a deep breath, blinking away tears that fled from her eyes, despite the fact that she was still flat on her back and staring upwards. "The UNSUB knows something about what he did to me."

There was another long pause, but this one seemed to stretch longer to Emily.

"I expect," Elizabeth said, her voice chilling in its iciness, "that you would do everything in your power to deny and eradicate any rumors that are circulating in regards to my deceased husband, Emily."

"It's not that easy, Mother," Emily tried to explain, lifting her fingers to cover her mouth as a sob tried to claw its way from her chest.

"Well _make it easy_, Emily," the Ambassador demanded. "I have a meeting in ten minutes and I must go."

Emily waited a beat, and then pulled her fingers away from her mouth. "Call me when you've made your flight arrangements," she requested, her voice small. "I'll send a car to retrieve you."

A small click as the call was disconnected was the only reply to her appeal.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **A shorter chapter, I know, but important nonetheless. Are there any thoughts? Questions? Comments? How about concerns? Review, please! I appreciate them all._

_A side note: I head back for school tomorrow, so I probably won't be able to update quite as frequently. I apologize in advance._


	9. CHAPTER EIGHT: LONG, ROUGH, AND WINDY

CHAPTER EIGHT: LONG, ROUGH, AND WINDY

The plane ride had been horrendously long, in Penelope's opinion. She should've worked on the case during the hour-long flight, but her fingers felt far too heavy and incompetent to manage anything productive. Instead, she'd spent the majority of the airtime glaring daggers into a cell phone that seemed to mock her in its silence.

The last she'd heard from any of the team had been a heart wrenching call from JJ, filled with sobs and gasps and wails that Penelope could scarcely discern words from. But the words that she _had_ been able to discern were more than enough to have Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia in a state of panicked frenzy.

Despite that, she couldn't wrap her mind around it. Emily Prentiss was strength and kindness personified. She was, in Penelope's somewhat deluded version of reality, a sweet and faithful angel. The idea that someone had tainted her, and reduced Emily to tears and agony infuriated her. It also shattered her usually very warm heart, and made her ache to hold the brunette beauty who so diligently took care of every member of their team.

The phone in front of her jingled a benign tune, and Penelope snatched it up immediately. "This better be good news," Penelope declared feistily, realizing that her voice was thick and that tears had touched her flushed cheeks again.

"We're at the airport now, Garcia," Hotch informed, and Penelope cringed as she heard the weariness and understated fury in his tone – a tone that was generally kept very adamantly controlled. "I'm going to drop you and JJ off at the hotel to stay with Emily, and after that I'll keep you both completely informed of any progress made with the investigation."

"Boss man, let me tell you something: I don't care about the investigation," Garcia said heatedly. "I care about Emily. So someone better tell me how my girl is doing, and they better do it soon."

"She's… upset," Hotch decided weakly.

"So, read between the not-so-expansive lines, and you're telling me that she's a tragic mess?"

"She needs all of the support that she can get, Garcia."

Garcia closed her eyes for a moment, then said, "The plane is landing. I'll see you both soon."

When she vacated the plane, go bag in one hand and her computer bag in the other, Penelope zeroed in on the black SUV and marched toward it determinedly. It didn't matter than she was crying silent tears, or that she was sure her hands would be trembling as soon as she released her things. Emily needed support, and support was something that Penelope Garcia could certainly offer her.

Her determination faltered, however, when JJ stepped away from the dark vehicle and wrapped her arms around her.

"I'm so glad you're here," JJ whispered roughly.

Penelope looked at Hotch over JJ's shoulder, and frowned deeply. "I know I have an ick, ew, gross, disgusting on Prentiss' dad," she hesitated briefly as JJ flinched in her embrace, "but I need to know everything else that's happening."

JJ certainly didn't look up to the task of explaining, so Hotch took the reigns and relayed the information, using Garcia as a sort of trial-run for how he would tell the rest of the team.

Garcia wasn't really sure what to do with it all, and wasn't sure how she was meant to react, but she did know that they had arrived at the hotel and had been sitting in silence for twenty minutes. She shook her head, trying to clear the haze that had taken up residence there, and opened the door.

"Garcia," Hotch said staidly, "if you need another minute to process – and we all know that it's a lot – that's okay."

"I don't have a minute," Penelope said stubbornly. "She's upset now."

"Pen," JJ said quietly, "you are too."

"So?" Penelope demanded, plowing through the doors of the hotel and quickly locating the elevator.

"Garcia – "

"Stop," Penelope pleaded. "I just need to be with her. Please."

JJ understood that. She'd had an advantage; Emily had told her about all of this directly, so she had been given the opportunity to embrace her, and to talk to her, and hold onto her hand. Penelope didn't have that luxury, and that was all that she wanted. So JJ understood, and stood in the elevator with her friend as Hotch toted the blonde woman's things up with them.

The room, this time, was not as they had left it two hours previous. It was a mess. There were papers scattered everywhere, and a multitude of pens, of unknown origins, thrown around with gnawed off caps. Emily was on the bed, and had thrown on a Yale sweatshirt over her pajamas. All Penelope could think was that she looked so small.

"Em," Penelope gasped, and rushed toward the dark shadow that was hunched in front of the laptop stationed on the bed.

"Hey, PG," Emily tried, though her voice was weak and her hands even felt loose as they grabbed onto the arms that wrapped around her shoulders. "Flight was good?"

"Flight was miserable," Garcia intoned, situating herself on the bed next to her friend as Hotch dropped off the bags.

"I'm headed back to the station," Hotch announced, his dark brows drawn together. "If you need anything – "

"I have two very willing and very able subjects to cater to my needs, Aaron," Emily tried a smile that looked as watery as her eyes. "Go. I'll be alright. I'll call if I have anything useful."

"Call if you don't," he replied, his eyes concerned and his voice fighting against something much, much deeper. "They'll want to hear from you."

"_Go_," Emily ordered as JJ curled up on the bed, facing the two of them.

Hotch nodded and slipped through the door, leaving the three crying women alone. Penelope grasped Emily's right hand, and noticed that JJ had done the same on Emily's left.

There were a million things that Garcia wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come out. She wanted to tell Emily how sorry she was, or tell her that they would all be around if she ever needed them. Penelope wanted to explain to her that she was part of their family, or explain that the team would do everything they could to capture the man who had rehashed such a violent and unfortunate part of her childhood.

Penelope wanted to say all of that, but instead, she said, "Did you just call the boss man by his first name?"

Emily let out a breathy laugh, and JJ chuckled a little, too.

"Sometimes, I forget Hotch _has_ a first name," JJ offered honestly.

"What gives, Princess?" Penelope demanded.

"Pen, Hotch spent an hour in here earlier, listening to me ramble words that didn't even makes sense while I sobbed on his shoulder and made a mess of his suit jacket. Forgive me if I don't want to associate my unit chief with the man whom I so thoroughly embarrassed myself in front of."

JJ shook her head slowly, and said, "Em, I think that helping you really helped him. He was kind of… Well, he was the Hotchified representation of our current state before you got out of the shower. He was pacing, Em."

"Hotch paced?" Penelope asked, slightly shocked. Hotch was generally very good about keeping any and all emotions from expressing themselves through his behavior. Pacing was a big no-no where he was concerned.

JJ nodded.

"Either way," Emily shrugged, "I was a mess," she paused. "Well, I was more of a mess than I am now," she corrected, gesturing toward her face where tears still leaked and her eyes looked burdened with exhaustion.

"Did you want to rest, Em?" JJ whispered, her face flushed and, although tears had stopped falling, they were built up in her eyes like they were ready to leak at even the slightest hint of weakness.

"No," Emily shook her head firmly. "I have too much to do. I have so many calls to make."

"I'm an excellent phone caller," Garcia informed. "Put me to work, my lady."

"It's okay," Emily denied softly. "I called the funeral home and the coroner, and I've arranged for the service to be on Sunday. I'm hoping my mother will be able to attend."

"Did you call her?" JJ asked gently. Penelope watched her knuckles pale as she squeezed Emily's hand more tightly.

Penelope also watched as Emily's swallowed quickly while nodding her head. "Yes. She has meetings through most of the week; she said she won't be able to fly in until Saturday."

"You're arranging all of this on your own?" JJ asked, sitting up and frowning heavily. "Emily, you shouldn't have to do this at all!"

Emily shrugged, sinking further into the cushions behind her, making herself look as small as Penelope imagined she felt. Penelope patted her leg gently.

"I can take care of the flowers," she declared.

"Pen, really, it's okay," Emily insisted.

"Listen, lady, I've been fretting with idle fingers all day long. I need to do something productive, which means that I need you to let me help. If you want to do flowers, I'll concede to you, my dove. But you must assign me a task," Penelope raised a brow as if daring her friend to challenge her.

Emily released a sigh and indicated the computer screen before her. "I've already started ordering the flowers," she informed. "If you really want something to do, you could find a catering company. But you don't have to – "

Penelope raised Emily's hand, still held tightly in hers, and placed a kiss to the back of it. "Let me try to make this easier for you, Emily."

"Me too," JJ said beseechingly. "I told you, Em… We just want to help."

"Thank you," Emily breathed, closing her eyes as more tears sprung from the dark orbs. "I – " her breath hitched, and she shook her head, but inhaled before she tried again. "I need a really big favor, then."

"Anything," JJ vowed.

Emily swallowed again, and her eyes focused intently on the duvet beneath them. "I need to go to my father's house," she whispered brokenly. "I need his address book to contact any friends that should be in attendance at the funeral, and I need the information for the lawyer who drafted his will. I just – I don't think I can – " a sob blew past her darkened lips. "I don't know if I can go back to that house."

"We'll go with you, Princess," Penelope promised, watching as JJ stroked Emily's hair behind her ear gently.

Penelope wrapped her arms around Emily's middle and held on tightly, needing the comfort for herself as much as she needed to give it. They would get through this. They would guide Emily through it, and do whatever they could to make her journey easier. Garcia just hoped that the journey wouldn't turn out quite as long, rough, and windy as it looked to be.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ Alright, my faithful readers, I spent a fair amount of time (that, truth be told, should have been spent packing) typing this up for you before I head back to school. This chapter is sort of meant to hold you over until my next post. I won't be able to update quite as often as I'd like, but I hope you all can forgive me, and I'd still love to hear from all of you._

_Review, please!_


	10. CHAPTER NINE: A SHIFT IN SENTIMENTS

CHAPTER NINE: A SHIFT IN SENTIMENTS

Dave needed coffee. In fact, in that particular moment, he wanted a banana bag of coffee IVed into his left arm. Very specifically his left, because he needed to work with his right.

The stuff at the local police department was, as always, crap. Coffee grounds collected at the bottom of his cup, and it was more often stale than it was fresh. The part that made it worse, Rossi thought, was that they'd reached a point where they didn't particularly care what it tasted like at all. They'd probably drink urine, if they were convinced enough that it was a substantial source of caffeine.

As Dave poured his fourth cup upon returning to the station, he wondered again at the fact that Hotch had gone off the grid for nearly three hours. He was a smart enough man to discern that it could mean nothing good. Hotch had promised to return immediately after checking up on their emotionally wounded agent, and the unit chief was almost disturbingly good for his word, always. Whatever was going on had knocked Aaron Hotchner off kilter, and that was a prospect that David was frightened to think about.

He'd hoped (naively, he now acknowledged) that perhaps the reason that Emily had been so deeply affected by this was the simple, yet incredibly unsettling fact that her father had been a victim in a disgustingly brutal series of murders. It didn't help, of course, that the UNSUB was citing the dark-haired agent as the cause for such a tragedy.

When Hotch finally returned, though, Rossi wanted to cringe. The stoic unit chief looked grieved, and burdened with something entirely too heavy for one man to shoulder alone.

"Aaron," Rossi murmured encouragingly, angling his brows morbidly and spreading a hand over his colleague's tense shoulder.

The set of Hotch's mouth was grim as he shook his head. "It's bad," was all the younger man offered, moving toward the interrogation room that they had been granted in order to perform their work.

Reid was hovering precariously near to a map of the area, and little red pins stuck out at the known dump sites. The younger man had a yellow string in his hands that seemed to dance along his fingers as he attempted to figure out just where or how the sites connected.

Morgan, however, was straddling a chair that was turned away from the table as he splayed file upon file on each of the victims before him. He was looking into victimology, but there didn't seem to be any sort of particular type there, either, aside from the fact that each victim was somehow involved in politics.

"Hotch?" Reid asked quietly, eyes wide and voice tight as he noticed the broken countenance of the tightlipped man.

"Where are Prentiss and JJ?" Morgan asked, brows furrowed in a sort of false confusion. Rossi saw the immediate denial rage in Derek's eyes. It didn't matter that he didn't know the precise details yet; he knew it wasn't good, and Rossi knew he wasn't eager to accept that something had so deeply rattled the generally impermeable Agent Prentiss.

"They're at the hotel," Hotch informed, his voice rough and quiet. "We flew Penelope in, as well."

"Penelope?" Morgan asked, standing quickly from his position at the table, a deep frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. "What the hell is going on, man?"

Rossi watched Hotch rest his eyes, gathering courage and shrouding himself in the tiny scraps of it that he managed to conjure.

"Prentiss isn't able to work the case with us due to conflicts of interest, which we were all, at the very least, beginning to suspect. Unfortunately, those conflicts are rooted far deeper than I think any of us were willing to consider, let alone believe," Hotch stated diplomatically.

Understanding that he was shaken, Rossi bit back on the frustrated noise that wanted to erupt from his throat. Instead, he murmured, "Why don't we all take a seat?"

He was worried, and not just about Prentiss, but also about Reid. He hadn't said anything at all, but shifted sad, anxious eyes to their unit chief and waited in silence for an answer that, Dave was sure, none of them really wanted to hear.

Ignoring Rossi's suggestion, Morgan rounded on Hotch with determination. "What's wrong with Prentiss?"

There was a deeply entrenched suffering in Hotch's eyes that Dave couldn't ignore, despite the man's best efforts to appear collected and, given the circumstances, as calm as possible.

"The relationship that Prentiss shared with her father was one with a history of sexual and emotional abuse that persisted from age twelve to fourteen. Her mother didn't handle it especially… efficiently," he hedged, clear disdain sparking in his tumultuous eyes. "Her parents maintained their marriage, and Prentiss and her mother moved to Italy – the location of the Ambassador's next assignment. Emily hasn't spoken of it since the day the maid walked in on it. Her mother forbade her from speaking of it again. Needless to say, she's fairly shaken up.

"In the interest of full disclosure," Hotch continued, "JJ's almost as much of a mess as Emily is. Neither of them are going to be of much assistance – at least, not today. JJ thought it best, and I agree, to call in Garcia. I think Prentiss needs all of the support that she can get right now."

Rossi swallowed down the bile that crawled up his chest. He'd known that Emily's childhood had been a sorry excuse for one, and he'd suspected unforgivable amounts of emotional neglect – at the very least, coming from her mother – but he'd never even contemplated any other sort of abuse.

He supposed it was that incredibly rare (and yet, at the moment, strangely prominent) naïve side of him at work once more. It was something that he'd never _want_ to ruminate on, but that generally didn't stop him from analyzing the lives of others.

It made such incredible sense, though.

Emily was insecure – although, raised as the ever-obedient Ambassador's daughter, Emily Prentiss was a wizard when it came to feigning a confidence that she had not even the smallest sense of. She didn't keep relationships with men for very long, at least not in an intimate capacity. He'd never thought much of it because, really, he had three failed marriages that attested to both his overinflated ego and the strain that their job placed upon relationships. It wasn't easy to find and keep a steady, healthy partner in their chosen career, but he should have realized that her aversion to relationships pressed beyond that.

He frowned and shook his head. It was so easy, as a profiler, to get lost in the character traits that they should have latched onto, and remember the situations that they should have noticed her discomfort in. And none of that mattered, Dave thought sullenly. None of that mattered, because she needed them.

And, if he was right, she wouldn't so easily accept their help for very long. He may have overlooked certain things before, but he understood Emily enough to know that she didn't play vulnerable very well.

* * *

Emily had asked for their help, JJ reminded herself staidly, and they desperately wanted to give her that. But it was very difficult to do when, the following morning, Emily was still plowing admirably through phone calls and rejecting any further tears that tried to ease past the dam that she had constructed to cease them.

They should have expected this. JJ knew that they should have. Since her very first days working with Emily, she had noticed her incredible and perhaps unnatural ability for compartmentalizing. It wasn't until the previous morning that she'd ever seen any emotion from Emily that the dark woman hadn't intended to express.

JJ understood it. She really, truly did, especially after hearing about the emotionless manner in which the Ambassador had handled the entire catastrophe that had been Emily's childhood. Shoving her emotions aside was second nature to Emily. But JJ still wasn't sure what she and Garcia should do about it.

On the one hand, they could try to force Emily to continue releasing the pent-up feelings – but JJ was very well aware of the fact that it hurt Emily's psychological stability to feel so constantly exposed the way that she had the day before. On the other hand, if they continued to allow her to avoid the issue, would she bury it for just as long as she had the first time, and wind up detrimentally hurting herself the next time she was forced to confront the issue?

JJ wasn't sure. The sleep had done wonders for her sore and aching eyes, but she still felt physically and emotionally exhausted. JJ had dreamt of a dark-haired girl who cowered shyly in her bedroom, feeling hollow and uncared for. She couldn't fathom how Emily must have felt. She didn't even know how much Emily had slept; she'd woken before either of them, and JJ was certain that she'd fallen asleep last – if, JJ added to herself sadly, Emily had fallen asleep at all.

Garcia had been next to a terror, as far as helping the funeral arrangements along was concerned. She wanted to be useful, but JJ felt Emily's reluctance each time she granted Garcia a new assignment. She knew Emily was fighting not to reject the requests. It was in her nature to do so; it was as much an act of the pride and independence that her mother had raised her with as it was an act of self-preservation. JJ didn't know how to subtly convey that to Garcia without hurting her normally bubbly blonde friend.

The haunted look in Emily's eye had yet to fade. JJ knew it was wishful thinking, but she'd hoped to see some improvement in Emily throughout the day. In some ways, there had been some progress; the tears had stopped, JJ noticed. But that seemed a bit like a regression, too, when in place of the tears there was now a solid wall slowly easing into place to shield the eyes that shed them.

JJ shuffled around the papers in front of her, rubbing her eyes wearily. They stung less, yes, but they were still irritated, and it still took a great deal of effort to keep her shining blue eyes mist-free.

"What next, sugarplum?" Garcia asked, a false cheeriness in her voice that JJ easily detected. She quickly separated the worry and anguish from the otherwise helpful tone, and sighed, wishing selfishly that the past two days had never happened.

It was terrible that Emily had sheltered and boxed away her entire, horrid childhood. On some level, she understood that Emily Prentiss was a psychological nightmare, and keeping all of that locked up was awful for her mental and emotional state. And, on an intellectual level, she understood that, if not yesterday, the dam would have broken some other time. But, before yesterday, they'd all been content not knowing that any of it had happened. Hell, even Emily had been more than content in repressing those particular memories.

JJ watched as Emily blinked twice, and turned away from the computer screen that they'd woken to find her staring at earlier that morning.

"I think that's everything that can be done from here," she said blankly. "We should stop by the station and see how the investigation is going, I think. You two are probably sorely missed."

JJ exchanged a panicked look with Garcia. They'd felt Emily's renewed walls leveling themselves back into place all morning, but this was a different story; this was a clear attempt to shirk off their assistance, and by consequence, also their presence around her. She wanted to handle this alone, and they didn't think that was a good idea at all.

But the worst part was that JJ wasn't sure they could argue with her wishes without further convincing Emily that she was making the right decision in pushing them away.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__In my defense, I did warn you that it would be a little while before the next update. I'm still, however, very sorry that I left you guys update-less for such a long period of time. I'm going home on Friday, just for the weekend, but I'll make sure I crank out at least one update while I have the time and opportunity to write._

_Please review!_


	11. CHAPTER TEN: HONEST AS A LIE

CHAPTER TEN: HONEST AS A LIE

"Agent Prentiss," one of the detectives at the precinct called out to her.

"Detective," she acknowledged briefly. "How can I help you?"

"I just ah – I just wanted to send my condolences," the bulky man offered humbly, shifting his weight around awkwardly. "If there's anything we can do, for you or your family, please don't hesitate to let us know."

Emily inclined her head, well aware that the detective had captured the attention of not only JJ and Garcia, but also the rest of her team. "Thank you, Detective. I appreciate the offer."

He nodded twice, and shrugged, "Of course." He then shuffled away, under the impression that her team was to ask any and all questions pertinent to the investigation.

When Emily faced her team, she could see, after a quick survey, that the men of the BAU hadn't slept at all the night before. Emily knew that it was a seemingly bottomless determination that kept them driving forward, but their feet were dragging, and their eyes were red.

Spencer looked the worst; if she hadn't known that the circles beneath his eyes were purely a physical manifestation of his exhaustion, she might've thought he'd run two rounds with a rough and ready biker, and had a shiner to show for each. But the boyish agent was trying (and failing) to continue on with his work as if nothing had happened. The socially inexperienced man with an IQ of 187 didn't know how to handle a story like that of her childhood. Emily could see, though, that he was upset. Later, she would need a one-on-one conversation with him, but for now, she knew he needed to maintain his dedication to his tasks.

She didn't smile at them. Emily could handle anything that this case dragged up, and she'd been handling it for more than twenty years, but her team wasn't stupid. They knew that she was affected by this, and she wouldn't slight them by pretending that she wasn't. Especially not Hotch, who'd held her for the upside of an hour while she got herself together.

And speaking of Hotch, Emily thought, he was looking really rough, too. He hadn't shaved, and was wearing the same suit that he'd been wearing in her hotel room yesterday. There was a quiet sort of fury simmering deep in his eyes, but she could also see hundreds of questions at the surface, tangled with an even more dominant sense of concern.

"I thought you might want your employees back," Emily said to him, gesturing to JJ and Garcia, who had been freakishly silent since her suggestion to stop by the precinct that morning.

Hotch's brows furrowed. His response could have been in jest, under other circumstances, but he was worried and somber as he said, "I was hoping you'd keep them."

Emily rested her eyes and battled with her tears again. She wanted to sigh. Couldn't they see that she needed to be alone? Couldn't they understand that preparing for the arrival of Elizabeth Prentiss required solitude, time, and a complete renovation of the boxes in her head? She still had a thousand things to do – going back to her childhood home, being one of them – and, although she'd thought that she couldn't do it alone, she now realized that she _had_ to.

"I think you need them more than I do right now," Emily replied, gesturing outside. They'd fought through a wall of reporters to get into the building, Emily steadfastly refusing to acknowledge any of them. "I also thought I'd answer the routine questions," she proceeded, pulling a list from her pocket. "These are all of the employees that I can remember from that time, but I have to stop by my father's house soon, so I'll see if I can track down any records while I'm there."

"Emily – " Rossi tried.

"But, I was thinking about it, and it seemed like the UNSUB sounded fairly educated, judging from the language he used in the letter. You might want to be prepared to look into other people outside of my parents' former employees. Unfortunately, my parents' acquaintances are beyond extensive in number, but I'll help however I can," Emily said, ignoring Rossi's attempt at speaking with her.

She wasn't sure what it was, but something about Dave always made her feel like she needed to confess something, be it her feelings, or something she felt she'd done inadequately or incorrectly. Emily didn't feel capable of confessing either of those things right now, and both lists were becoming immeasurable in length.

When she saw how hurt he looked – by her interjection or the situation, Emily couldn't tell – she frowned and reached out a hand to squeeze his forearm. She didn't say anything, and neither did the team, but he looked at her for a long time, during which she fought not to curl into his arms and sob her aching heart out. He nodded once, then looked to the team's tech analyst.

"I could definitely use you," he said finally. "Especially now that we have these names. If you could look into them and see if any of the former Prentiss employees have wandered off the paved path, that would be great."

"But I – " Penelope tried to argue, and looked back to JJ in a frenzy.

"I need you here," Derek said seriously.

Penelope looked at Emily, then at Derek, and then Emily again.

"Go, Garcia. I'll be fine," Emily said finally, cringing internally as she realized that she'd just spun a marvelously unimaginative lie.

"Are you sure? Because I can – "

"I'm sure," Emily confirmed. "Stay. Please. I have a bunch of boring errands to run, anyways."

"We could probably use some help with the media, too," Hotch said reluctantly, but he never looked away from Emily.

She nodded, even though he was technically talking to JJ. The slight blonde woman seemed more reluctant than any of them. Emily felt JJ's fingers wrap around her wrist, and she turned to give her best friend her undivided attention. Hotch and Rossi seemed to understand it was a private moment, and they discretely turned to the left a bit and began a conversation.

"Are you sure?" JJ asked her quietly, her eyes wet. "I'm going to be more honest than I should and tell you that I really don't want to leave you alone. I understand that you want to do this on your own, and that you're incredibly capable of doing it… but I don't think you should be by yourself right now. And, honestly, maybe some of that comes from me not wanting to be away from you for selfish reasons, but I –"

"You're the least selfish person I've ever met," Emily replied solemnly, and took JJ's hand in hers, squeezing it once. "I'm a wreck, Jayje. I'd only be trying to fool myself if I told you that I was okay, because I'm not… But I need to go there alone. I really, really appreciate everything that you've done, and I swear I'll call if I feel like it's something you can help with, but that hotel room… God, Jayje, we're all wallowing, and that's fine for a while, but then you reach a point when you're only crying because the air is sparking with anguish and everyone around you is still miserable.

"I've been sitting on this for nearly a quarter of a century. I think it'd be more frightening if I wasn't a dissolving mass of tears. Everyone, excluding my mother, maybe, would agree that hiding from something like my past is next to impossible and incredibly unhealthy. But it happened a long time ago. I'm not saying that it loses any emotional value for any of us, but right now, the case has to be your first priority, and I'm not going to keep you guys away from that."

"You'll call?" JJ repeated, swiping at tears with her free hand and holding Emily's tightly in the other. "Anything, Em. Anything you need, and we'll all be there."

"I'll call," Emily confirmed, leaning forward and offering her friend a hug. It felt uncomfortable for her, mostly because it was in direct contrast to the emotional rebuild she'd begun in her head, but she knew JJ needed it. Maybe some part of her subconscious recognized that she needed it, too.

JJ hesitated when releasing her hand, but looked to Hotch once she had. "I need you to fill me in on everything that's happened since yesterday."

Hotch didn't look happy about Emily's upcoming solitude, either, and looked ready to vocalize his displeasure, but a look from Rossi stopped him. Instead, the dark-haired man turned and guided JJ into the interrogation room, leaving Emily and Dave to each others' company.

"Shall we sit?" Dave proposed, leading Emily to a separate room, presumably to get the answers that they desperately needed to the questions that nobody wanted to ask.

Emily followed obediently, thanking him politely when he held a chair out for her, and she seated herself promptly.

"Where do you want to start?"

It was so like him to do something like that. He couldn't give her a list of questions and ask for the answers; he wanted to psychoanalyze her while he got her responses.

"David," she said wearily, eyes blinking for just a moment too long. "Don't."

The agent opposite of her looked contrite, and didn't attempt to act oblivious. Instead, he nodded and proceeded with all of the necessary questions. She answered them as thoroughly as she could, but she rarely, if ever, heard anything about her father from her mother, and she hadn't seen the man since she was fourteen. She knew even the smallest things could be helpful, and that this was a necessary evil, but she couldn't help but feel that it was entirely useless.

There was a long pause while he scratched down some answers, and she thought about the mess that this visit to New York had become.

"David," she said softly, "I need a favor."

"Anything," he promised blindly.

"Keep the team busy," she said quietly. "Just… Look out for them, okay?"

Rossi looked contemplative for a moment, and leaned back in his chair to survey her. "And who's going to look out for you?"

Emily wanted to tell him that she didn't need looking after, but the truth was that she just didn't want anyone around to see her during the moments when she needed looking after the most.

"I'll be alright," she lied, anyway. "I've been living with this for many, many years, Rossi. I can handle a few more days on my own."

"Living with it and coping with it aren't quite the same thing, Em."

"Don't you think I know that?" Emily snipped reflexively, and inhaled heavily, shaking her head immediately after. "I'm sorry."

"You're not stupid, Emily," Rossi shook his head. "You know that a reaction like that is exactly what I was trying to get, making a comment like that. I'm concerned."

"I'd like to tell you not to be, but it wouldn't work, and your concern is entirely justified, anyways. But I need you guys here, working the case with as much focus as any other. Until that's dealt with, Dave, I can handle the rest."

She had to.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ _If I'm lucky, I'll be able to get another chapter out before the weekend is over. If not, I'm really sorry. Next week is full of exams for me, though, so I'll have to give a fair amount of attention to school._

_Review, please!_


	12. CHAPTER ELEVEN: THROUGH THE GRAPEVINE

CHAPTER ELEVEN: THROUGH THE GRAPEVINE

The foyer was stifling and suffocating, and eerily familiar. Her shoes clacked and echoed off the marble floors as she treaded with trembling, hesitant steps further into the house that she'd once lived in; the house that she'd been abused in; the house where her father had taken advantage of her eagerness to please and her desperate desire to feel love.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, pushing those thoughts as far into the back of her mind as she could manage – although, these days, that wasn't very far at all.

The address book. That's all she needed. Just the address book.

_Come on, Prentiss, get yourself together_, Emily's mind scolded as she forced her feet to guide her down the path that she knew led into her father's study. At least, it had when she'd lived there.

Emily scurried in and rifled through the drawers as quickly as she could. Her hands shook violently, and she was beyond uncomfortable here. She found a leather-bound notebook and, upon further inspection, found that a slew of phone numbers and e-mails were listed within it. She swiftly grabbed it and, on a whim, snagged the laptop off of his desk before vacating the house as immediately as she could manage.

But Emily hesitated for the briefest of moments to look up the spiraling staircase and to the landing. She'd slept down that hallway for nearly six years.

And she'd slept down that hallway with her father for just under two of them.

Drawing in a heavy, startled breath, Emily bolted from the glossy foyer and into her car, where she sat still for several moments. Giving in to the pounding anguish in her chest, Emily dropped her head to the steering wheel.

Oh, God. Why had she turned down JJ's offer to accompany her? She knew she couldn't handle this. She knew she wasn't capable of doing this alone. She knew she should, and she knew that she really, really needed to let her team do whatever it was that they needed to in order to solve this case, so she should give them space – but she wasn't equipped for this kind of emotional torment.

There was a reason Emily compartmentalized. She wasn't good with emotions – not even good ones. She didn't react well to anything that wasn't completely factual. Emotions frightened her. They skewed people's actions, and tinted the world, and they were just plain dangerous. Emotions caused a loss of objectivity, and in Emily's life, and especially in her career, a loss of objectivity couldn't be afforded.

It didn't help that emotions had always been considered a weakness within the Prentiss family. After everything that had happened with her father, the Ambassador had informed her that she, for the sake of appearances and the upcoming elections, had to keep her mouth shut. The media always picked up on even the tiniest nuance of emotion, and until they unearthed the reason for that display of emotion, they were hounds that pilfered and invaded lives.

But here, now, there was no shading anything from anyone. She couldn't. She didn't even know where to begin with a task as monumental as that one.

* * *

Hotch frowned as he pulled into the drive of Andrew Prentiss' colossal home. The manor looked like it belonged in a movie, somehow, and it seemed incredibly impossible for such a huge place to exist on the outskirts of a city like New York. But there it was.

He could imagine little Emily playing in the yard with her bodyguard, or maybe a puppy. He could see her as a child playing on a swing set in the backyard, and rushing forward to wait for the arrival of her parents.

And then his heart broke as he remembered that Emily hadn't experienced childhood that way, and certainly hadn't ever been enthusiastically greeted in the driveway by her diplomatic parents. She'd probably waited quietly inside and read books, wistfully watching out the window and waiting for her parents to come home – which they probably never did until she was already in bed for the evening.

Hotch swallowed, hard, removing his suit jacked before he stepped out of the SUV, locking the doors behind him. And then the stoic agent frowned again, noticing a similar vehicle parked not far away from his own.

He cringed upon realizing that it was the SUV that Emily had taken when leaving the station earlier that day. He approached it and, once reaching the window, he tapped against it lightly, feeling beyond guilty when Emily jerked, terrified, and looked up at him with red-rimmed, scared, sorrowful eyes.

She rolled the window down after realizing that it was only Hotch, and she tried for a weak smile. "You scared me," she whispered. "What are you doing here?"

Hotch was quiet for just a moment too long, and said, "I was going to look at the place," he informed. "We're trying to dig further into the victimology."

He didn't mention that some part of him had either expected or hoped to see her there. JJ had mentioned that this was part of the reason that she had been so reluctant to leave Emily alone, and when ordering his agents to the victims' houses, he had intentionally chosen the senator's house for himself in case this happened.

Hotch didn't entirely understand _why_, but he was desperate to support Emily through this.

Emily nodded, and sighed. "I picked up his laptop," she said slowly, her voice still weak, as if she couldn't physically raise it anymore. "I was thinking Garcia might want to look into it. I don't know that it'll help much, but…" Emily shrugged as her voice trailed off.

Tears still slipped from beneath her dark, long lashes, and something about it stirred a reaction in Hotch that he wasn't sure how to decode.

He reached for the door handle and dragged it open, maintaining eye contact with her as he did. "Come here," he murmured tenderly, his hands stretching outward to help her from the car.

"Hotch, I – "

"I know," he interrupted. "You can handle it on your own," he said, taking her wrist and tugging gently until she followed him out. "But you don't have to," he paused gently, both hands resting on her shoulders as his nearly black eyes made contact with her broken brown, feeling her tremble beneath his grasp, "and I don't want you to."

"Aaron," she whispered, her voice splintering over the second syllable.

Hotch ignored the gut reaction to hearing her speak his first name, and wrapped his arms around her, feeling hers circle around his waist, hugging him tightly to her and tucking her face into his chest. He felt hot tears searing through his shirt, and anticipated her apologies.

"Emily," he said carefully, "you've been nothing but supportive of me in the entire time we've known each other, especially since Haley's passing. I think it's only fair that I get a turn, too, particularly since it's so rare for you to feel so devastated."

Emily laughed shortly. "I don't want to burden you, or the rest of the team," Emily insisted sincerely. "And I'd also prefer to get over it on my own, because there isn't much that anyone else can do about it."

Hotch shook his head, and said, "I know that we can't do very much, Emily… But I wish I could make you understand how much it helps us to help you. JJ and Garcia are a barely functioning mess. While I always hold them in the highest regard, and the two are capable of performing their respective jobs more than adequately, they're not okay without you right now. Reid's not sleeping, Morgan's furious, Rossi's more concerned than I've ever seen him, and I'm… not okay with leaving you alone again."

He had cushioned everyone's reactions, especially his own, but he needed Emily to see how much this affected all of them, and how much they really needed to help her.

"I'm not good at this, Hotch," Emily said slowly, her voice muffled against his shirt. "I haven't ever had to – and I'm not skilled at asking… I don't know how to be like this," she said, resigned.

Hotch nodded. He knew that, and he knew that, on some level, it made her feel more frightened and upset to be as vulnerable as she had been recently, so he didn't want to pressure her. But he needed it to be clear that they would support her and care for her while she pushed herself from this rut.

"We'll help," he said lightly, running a warm hand up and down the space between her shoulder blades.

A silence overtook them, Hotch soothing her back and Emily's tears dissolving into his shirt and tie. Hotch uncomfortably noted and enjoyed the flowery scent of her hair as his head ducked down into her neck.

"I'm scared, Aaron," she whispered again, another flood of tears accompanying the admission.

"That's okay," he whispered back tightly, his heart constricting at the thought that this might be the first time in her life that Emily Prentiss had uttered those two words together. "It's alright to be scared. It's alright to be sad and upset and even broken for a little while. You'll find your way back."

"I just want to go home," she said quietly, nuzzling her cheek against his shirt.

"We're doing what we can," he muttered, feeling a profound reaction to the warmth of her face seeping through to his chest.

Emily laughed self-deprecatingly, and said, "Yes. And I'm doing a terrific job of distracting you all. God," she hissed, pulling away from him and swiping at her face furiously, "you should go. Get back to work. I'll call JJ and check in with her in a little while, and I might steal them for dinner; I know she and Garcia were really shaken up. The others I'll try to deal with after the case is over. I don't think Reid's ready for that conversation yet, and I don't think Morgan's able to calm down long enough to talk it through, either, but I'll talk to them when we go home. _Go_," she persisted, removing his lingering hand from his shoulder and squeezing it once, tightly, before releasing him. "I have a bunch of calls to make for the funeral, anyways."

"Stop it," Hotch demanded, his grip firm as he reached for her a second time, and his eyes blazing as they captured hers. "You're not Superwoman, Emily, and no one expects you to be. I understand that we have a case to work, and I'm not at all trying to lessen the importance of that, but our team is built around each of its members, Emily, and that includes you. It's important to us to be there for you, and right now you need us, so that works out fine. And it's okay that you need us. We can take care of both you and the case at once, but you need to let us."

"You can't take care of them both while devoting the amount of attention to this case that it deserves," Emily shook her head, frowning. "The families of the other victims are just as important as I am, and they need this closure more than I do, Aaron. These politicians could have been good people, despite the rumors that I've heard to the contrary," Emily defended, opening the door of the SUV and reaching for her purse and, consequently, a tissue.

"What rumors?" Hotch asked, his jaw set and eyes suddenly intrigued.

Emily inhaled slowly, not having realized that she'd made such an important connection between the victims in this case until the words had flown from her mouth.

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh boy," she seated herself in the drivers seat, facing Hotch as she connected dots together.

"What rumors, Emily?"

"I think I just remembered that they existed, honestly," she said slowly. "But I guess, throughout the time of my childhood, I heard rumors go around about each of the victims. I don't know if I can remember them all specifically, but the rumors about their crimes varied. Embezzlement was a big one, but there were also little things… Jaron Farth – the hotshot attorney? – I think I heard from an old friend that he was big on paying off the jurors in his cases, or blackmailing them. And I've heard that the Commissioner of Health often avoided sanitation issues when there didn't seem to be infinite sources to fund the correction of them. I don't know specifics about the others, but I know I've heard their names before."

"Okay," Hotch said, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. "I'm going to call Dave and Garcia and have them start looking into those rumors."

Emily nodded, turning to buckle in her seat and trying to close the door.

Hotch grabbed the frame of the door, and held onto it while he pressed his phone against his ear. "You and I are going out for lunch," he told her.

"Aaron, we don't have time for this," she shook her head, seeing his objection in the narrowing of his eyes. "We don't," she insisted. "I have to finish up the funeral plans, and you have a new lead on victimology."

"And that's great," Hotch said, "but I – Dave, it's Hotch. I need you to interview the families, and friends of the families. Actually, interviewing the family's enemies might be better, if you can find out who those are. Emily said she's heard speculations regarding the moral and legal decency of some of our victims… Yes, I'm with her now… No, she was at the house… It could be worse… Call Garcia and let her know what to look for. Thanks, Dave," he flipped the phone shut and continued speaking with her as if they hadn't been interrupted. "I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone, and as far as interviews go, especially the first few while they find out who despised whomever else, they don't need me at the station. So, lunch."

Slumping her shoulders forward in defeated exhaustion, Emily asked, "Where?"

"I don't know. Let's just drive and see what looks good," he suggested.

"Seriously?"

He shrugged. "Any better ideas, Prentiss?"

She sighed quietly and shook her head. "Fine. I'll follow you. Just pull over when you see someplace decent, and make it quick. I don't feel good about keeping you away from the team, especially not for any longer than necessary."

"They'll be fine, Em," Hotch said softly, eyes connecting with hers deeply. "They're worried about you, too. They're not going to mind that I kept you company for a while."

"Don't get me wrong, Hotch," she offered shakily, "I enjoy your company. But, as I said before, this really just isn't a good time for it. I know you want to help – and you _have_, so much – but bullying me into a meal so that we can talk about this might not be the best thing while we each have a million other things that should be taking first priority."

"Right now, you're my first priority."

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ So, I was way overdue for an update. I'm very sorry; I've been busy with school and family and life and just trying to get stuff in order. I hope the chapter doesn't disappoint too much... I'm not sure if I'm a fan of the beginning of the chapter, but I think I started to get back into the swing of things by the end. Let me know if you agree or disagree! I appreciate all reviews._

_xx RavenclawGenius  
_


	13. CHAPTER TWELVE: AFFIRMATION OF CHARACTER

CHAPTER TWELVE: AFFIRMATION OF CHARACTER

Emily's thumbs tapped an arrhythmic, anxious beat against the slightly damp steering wheel. Her tears and damp palms had wetted the instrument in the moments since she'd sprinted from her father's study – and since she had collapsed into a very determined Aaron Hotchner's arms.

Despite her heartfelt objections, her stoic unit chief had insisted upon taking her to a meal, and had consequently informed her that their case and any other current, pressing issues in his life were not as important as her emotional and mental health; he had blatantly informed her that she was his first priority.

_First priority_. God, Emily didn't know how she had allowed that to happen. And with Aaron Hotchner, of all people! That man carried the world on those broad shoulders of his. Between the grief and guilt that he suffered from after Haley's untimely and devastating death, the absolute responsibility for his son's happiness and health, and the heavy, constant concern he oversaw his BAU agents with in the field, Emily could scarcely see room to add another burden to the mix.

And she didn't see how it would make a difference, as much as she appreciated that he took her so heavily into consideration. Hotch couldn't fix this for her. There was no easy solution to what she was feeling, and certainly no approach to rationalizing it away. It would take time and, although Emily wasn't really ready to think seriously about it, probably years and years of therapy that she'd stupidly never taken the time to engage herself in.

And one of the things that would more than likely be discussed in those future therapy sessions was the fact that Emily didn't even know how to _be_ someone's first priority. She never had been before, and she wasn't sure that she knew what to do with the information – or with the responsibility.

Sighing as she watched Hotch's SUV pull into a small, Italian eatery, she followed obediently. Cars parked adjacently, she stepped from the large vehicle and tossed the keys into her purse.

"Italian sound good to you?" Hotch asked.

"Italian's great," Emily answered wearily, rubbing her index and middle fingers below her aching eyes, "as long as it's quick."

"You haven't been sleeping," Hotch observed, opening the door for her and following her in the building.

She pinned him with a blank, owlish look until he shrugged, and added, "I had hoped that you were resting, even if I expected something different."

"Sorry to disappoint," she replied cattily.

"Have you been trying, at least?" Hotch pressed, ignoring her confrontational tone and choosing a booth in the corner for some semblance of privacy.

They both picked up the menus laid out on the table and began scouring through it for something appetizing.

"It's like a minefield up here," Emily replied, shaking her head and softening her tone considerably, tapping her index finger to her temple. "I've been trying to avoid situations where I can overthink things. So, I guess I haven't been trying as hard as I can, but I figure if I work myself hard enough over the next couple of days, at some point I'll crash into the most fitful sleep in the world."

"Emily – "

"I know it's not healthy, Hotch," she interrupted gently, her fingers picking at the edges of the menu as her eyes averted his, "but for now, it's the only way I know how to manage this."

He was quiet and solemn as his eyes assessed her weakened frame, waiting for her dark orbs to make contact with his. "I'm not here to criticize you, Emily," he said carefully, when her gaze finally shifted upward. "Trust me, I remember unhealthy coping – and the fact that you can identify your behavior as such is an incredible thing."

"I'm not stupid, Hotch," she said tiredly, pausing briefly as the waiter stopped by to take their drink orders.

"I never imagined that I would have to tell you that I've never thought of you as even remotely stupid, Emily," Hotch chastised, as the Italian man moved away from their table.

"As a child," she breathed heavily, placing her menu on the table carefully, "I never had to deal with this. In fact, nobody wanted me to deal with it; nobody wanted me to speak of it. So, I've had years of practice at not coping effectively, and over a lot of time, I'd learned not to think about it. I'd more or less forgotten about that part of my past, Hotch. Coming to the city was bad enough, because even landing at the airstrip, I felt morbid and upset – but I never expected this. I couldn't possibly have prepared for this," she rubbed her fingers over her forehead exhaustedly, feeling the approach of a migraine. "Since I'd never exactly had to deal with the issue before, I'd always shoved it to the back of my mind, and that wouldn't work this time.

"I understand that I sound upset about the fact that my compartmentalizing has failed me, and I am. But I also understand that compartmentalizing isn't healthy to begin with, and that despite the rough situation, if my brain didn't short-circuit now, it was bound to at some other time. Logically," she paused there, placing a lot of emphasis on that word, making eye contact with him to be sure that he understood her, "I know all of that. But until I can get back to D.C., in the safety of the home that I've made for myself and the terrain that separates me from the vestiges of my broken family, I can't deal with the chaotic blunder that my brain has become in the past few days. At some point, when I'm ready, therapy will come, and I'll be able to work on healthy coping methods, and maybe, if I ever learn how to deal with it properly, I might be able to use my experiences to help others… But I'm not anywhere near ready for that, Aaron," she finished brokenly, pleading with him to understand.

"You're very aware of yourself," Hotch acknowledged.

Emily laughed, if a tad bitterly. "As the daughter of politicians, you can't really afford not to be aware of yourself. Any flaws you might have are nothing compared to the flaws that the media will create, but you never, ever feed the fire with anything that they don't already know."

Up until that point, Aaron Hotchner had never fully understood what Emily had meant that day, years ago, when she had so passionately told him that she felt politics destroyed families and made people distrustful. But this brief glance into her childhood, or lack thereof, had clarified it for him more than anything else she'd ever disclosed to him.

The Italian man delivered their drinks, then. "Can I get your orders for you?" He asked, clearly bored with the routine. They had not chosen an upscale restaurant; just a little hole in the wall that seemed decent enough.

After a bit of contemplation, they both placed their meal orders and, after being promised breadsticks to tide them over, the waiter returned to the kitchen in the back.

"Did you get to experience adolescence at all, Emily?" Hotch asked suddenly, overcome by a wave of despair for the incredible woman seated before him.

Uncomfortable, Emily folded her hands over the table and sat remarkably still, pondering an answer to his question. "In the technical sense, obviously," she smiled thinly. "But not in the sense that you mean. I'd imagine it's really difficult to devote a significant amount of time to both a career as intense as the ones that my parents possessed, and the inconvenient child."

"Don't defend them," Hotch snapped, sitting up straight, suddenly tense and incredibly indignant.

Emily regarded him curiously, but slowly shook her head nevertheless. "I'm not defending them," she said carefully. "I would never wish that sort of neglect upon a child, and I would never deem that a suitable parenting style. But that's really what it was; I was an inconvenience to them, unless I was needed for some holiday gala or press event, or something of the like. Well, until later when I became useful for something else entirely," she replied neutrally, shrugging, unable to adequately express how she felt, as an adult, about the fact that her own father had used her for his own sexual gratification when she'd scarcely hit puberty.

"I sometimes wonder if I don't do the same to Jack," Hotch admitted, seeing that she was uncomfortable and would prefer a change in subject. She'd talked about her past, and had hinted at her plans for therapy in the future; he could ask no more of her, for now.

"No," Emily denied fiercely. "Aaron, Jack is a healthy, exuberant boy who loves you very much. You spend time with him when you're home – and you were mentioning just yesterday that he was thrilled about how often you were home for dinner. That's a feat in this day and age, regardless of your career. You play ball with him, and you take him to the movies, and supervise play dates with other kids from his soccer team. You adore that child, Hotch; anyone can see that. Even before Haley passed, no one ever, ever doubted what you'd be willing to do for Jack's happiness. That's not neglectful, Aaron. Not even remotely."

Although he'd hoped for the reaffirmation of his parenting, the ferocity with which Emily defended it stunned him. "I appreciate that," he quirked a smile at her gently.

She narrowed her eyes and thinned her lips, very pointedly stating, "I didn't say it to make you feel better, Hotch – although that was a beneficial side-effect. I said it because it's true, and because you have a beautiful son, whose wellbeing I care very much about. If you were treating him poorly, I would have told you long before now."

"It's promising to know that someone would give me a kick in the pants, if necessary," he replied, nonchalantly, straightening as he watched their waiter approach with their meals.

"Thank you," Emily said politely, accepting her dish and tucking her napkin into her lap.

"He misses you, you know," Hotch told her around a mouthful of pasta.

He watched as Emily's movements paused, just briefly, and her entire posture softened. A rare smile gentled her fatigued countenance. "I miss him, too," she said tenderly.

Deliberately, "You should join us for dinner. When we get back, of course."

"I'd like that," she promised, truly missing the sweet, spirited boy and spending time with him, as she'd done on many occasions before. "I'd like that a lot."

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ _Not quite so long for an update, this time. I know it's short, but this was the best place to end the chapter. Review, please!_


	14. CHAPTER THIRTEEN: HUMOR ME

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: HUMOR ME

"I can make it back to the hotel on my own just fine, Hotch," Emily argued as they exited the small eatery, thumbing the electronic key to the SUV.

"I know that," Hotch replied earnestly, opening her car door for her when he heard the doors unlock, "but I don't need to be back yet, and, frankly, it would make me feel better to go with you."

"Hotch, I'm going to be okay," Emily insisted, turning around in the doorway of the car to face him. "I know that contradicts all of the evidence, especially considering that every time I see you, I cry all over you and ruin your clothes, but I'm going to be okay," she persisted.

Hotch elected to ignore the bit about her crying, unwilling to admit that he'd been flattered – on both occasions – at the fact that she had invested enough faith in him to not only cry in front of him, but to fall against him for comfort. "I know that," he said again.

"Okay, then – "

Hotch cut her off, then, and said, "But it would still make me feel better to see you back to your room."

Emily cracked a small smile and looked up at him with incredulous amusement. Hotch's hands were once again framing the car door, only this time he wasn't trying to coax her out of the car, he was essentially trapping her in it – or, more accurately, trapping her into having this conversation. "What is this, high school prom?" She deflected.

Confused, Hotch furrowed his brows and waited for an explanation.

"Nothing – just the escorting me home thing… Sort of seems like something a horny teenager would say after prom," Emily elaborated, then interrupted herself and shook her head. "Forget it, it's not important."

The corners of Hotch's mouth twitched into a reluctant smile, and Emily smiled back up at him, pleased. She knew he'd been worried about her; she was worried about her, so he wasn't wrong to be. But they'd all been so tense, and so somber after learning about her father. She had been more tense and somber than anyone else, so she couldn't fault them for it. Nevertheless, the shadow of a smile on Hotch's face had been a relief from the sorrow that she hadn't thought she'd be able to find, and that made her feel hopeful. It was the first opportunity she'd been given to feel a little bit of humor since the Pandora's Box of Her Past had been opened.

"Still," Hotch pushed, continuing on even as he watched his agent roll her eyes, "I'm saying please, Emily."

Genuine eyes bore into hers, and for all of her independence, Emily couldn't tell him no. She hated that he was so worried about her, but if he needed to take her back to the hotel to give him some sort of psychological comfort, she couldn't deny him that. He had done a lot for her – particularly in the past couple of days – and if this could help him get back to where he needed to be, emotionally, in order to work this case, then she could sacrifice a little bit of self-sufficiency for that.

"Okay," she replied gently, but then held up her finger and jabbed it into his chest, "but after that, you go back to the station to help out."

Hotch looked down at her finger and blinked, inquiring – with a puzzled, but mildly amused look on his face, "Did you just _poke_ me?"

He watched as her lips curved into a tender smile, and she flattened her palm against his chest. When she looked up, her eyes were dark and Hotch felt his breath catch, for just a second, at the sincerity she held in them.

"Thank you, Aaron," she whispered up at him softly.

"What for?" He asked delicately, his brow furrowed as the comicality of their conversation seemed to pause, in favor of…. whatever Emily was trying to say to him.

She shrugged and slid into the car, smiling up at him even behind her exhausted eyes. "For escorting me to my room like a horny teenage boy after prom."

Hotch laughed and shut the car door behind her, grabbing his own keys from his pocket as he lowered himself to the window that Emily had just opened. "I was a perfect gentleman after my prom, for the record."

"Hotch, I don't think anyone could seriously accuse you of being anything but a gentleman," Emily said, that charming smile still coating her amused words with honesty, and, once again, Hotch felt flattered even though he was sure that it was improper.

"I'll meet you at the hotel," he said, lifting himself from the window and walking toward his car.

Once he was settled in it, Hotch waited for Emily to pull out before he followed, while reaching for his cell phone to put in a call to Rossi.

"Rossi," he heard his friend gruff.

"Dave, it's Hotch."

"Hey," Rossi replied, sounding tired and concerned. "How's Emily?"

"She's…. going to be okay, I think," Hotch answered hesitantly.

"Did she say anything?" Rossi countered.

"Nothing pertinent to the case," Hotch decided. "But I'm feeling a little better about leaving her at the hotel for a few hours without company."

"You are?" Dave sounded surprised. "She seemed really…. not good when she stopped by, Aaron."

"I know," Hotch said, frowning.

"So what convinced you that she would be alright alone?" Dave urged, not criticizing his decision, but curious about how he arrived at it.

"We had lunch," Hotch responded.

Dave didn't push for more, despite that he desperately wanted to, and despite that Hotch was – as always – being unnecessarily cryptic with his responses. He was sure that Hotch would never break Emily's confidence if he could help it, and Dave wouldn't ask him to. Emily had enough trust issues as it was. He wasn't looking to add to that. He just wanted to know how she was doing.

Instead of forcing Hotch into an awkward position, though, he offered, "We've been talking to people for the past couple of hours and have been able to verify a few of the rumors about the victims. It's a serious break for us, I think. The UNSUB sees himself as some sort of avenger of the common man. Morgan and I have been working on the profile, and we think his trigger had something to do with Lavor, the health commissioner."

"Why's that?" Hotch inquired.

"Well, the health commissioner was the first one found, and as far as the medical examiners can tell us, he was also the first one to die. We've also found a number of witnesses and reports that confirm that Lavor had just recently declined to decontaminate a hospital downtown that was exposed to anthrax, which – "

"Caused it to close," Hotch finished for him, taking a turn onto the highway.

"Right. Anyway, that's our best lead so far. While the others were crooked politicians, mostly, they appear to have not pissed anyone off too much in the last few months. Also, as I understand, there were a serious number of citizens in an uproar because of the hospital shutting down. Apparently it hosted one of the largest free clinics in the city. As far as I can tell, the clinic mostly saw a lot of the stomach flu, but some of the former employees tell me that a good majority of their other patients were rape victims."

"Which could be how all of this ties back to Emily," Hotch concluded.

"That was my line of thinking," Dave replied. "I'll let you know if anything comes up."

"I'm actually headed back to the station shortly. I'm just taking Emily back to the hotel first, so I should be there in about half an hour."

The line was quiet for a moment, so Hotch checked to see if his colleague was still around. "Dave?"

"We really do have a hold on things here. If you wanted to stay with Emily, I mean…"

Hotch wanted to stay with her, but he wasn't sure that he should. For that matter, he wasn't sure that Emily would _let_ him stay. Besides, he should at least check on the team and see the physical evidence for himself. But he didn't want to deny the opportunity, just in case he did decide to stay with her.

"I'll let you know," Hotch stated. "I'm afraid I might start crowding her soon, so I'll feel out the situation and get back to you. Until then, can you have Garcia send me a list of names for the hospital's former employees?"

"Sure," Dave replied. "Listen, Aaron, we're all really worried about her. And… I guess I can't speak for the rest of the team, but I think we would all feel a little bit calmer if we knew that Emily wasn't dealing with this alone. She already shook off JJ and Garcia, otherwise I'd send them to look out for her, but if she's letting you hang around… Well, I'm just saying I wouldn't leave her side until she made me."

She was trying to make him, Hotch thought. But Rossi was right; if he could stay – if they didn't need him, if she wasn't forcibly shoving him out of the door – then he ought to. He'd already proven at the crime scene that he was clearly distracted by her health. At least this way he could help out on the case with information from Dave, and he could see for himself that Emily was alright – and if she wasn't, he could be there for her.

"Thanks, Rossi. I'll call you back."

He ended the call with good timing as they pulled into the lot of the hotel. He watched Emily hop out from her car and shut the door before he slid into the vacant parking space beside her.

When he stepped out of his own vehicle, he decided not to let Emily know about what Rossi had told him until later. She hadn't really stopped crying since they'd stumbled upon her father's rotting corpse, and since she couldn't really help out with the investigation too much, Hotch wanted to let her enjoy her tear-free moments.

"Are you actually going to walk me to my room?" Emily joked lightly.

"Yes," Hotch replied sternly.

"Seriously?" Emily posed. "I can walk to the room, you know," she said, gesturing to the hotel building behind her with the room key she'd just pulled from her purse.

"Humor me, Prentiss," Hotch chuckled.

Emily shook her head, but zipped her purse up and began the short trek from the parking lot to the build, Hotch in tow.

"I spoke with Rossi. He said that they have a few new leads, but that they have it pretty much taken care of at the station," Hotch extended, his voice measured and careful.

Emily stopped, and turned to look up at him, but Hotch had been close beside her, and so now she was just very close to him.

"Hotch," she said slowly, trifling through her vocabulary to find the words that she needed, "it's becoming pretty clear to me how affected the team is by my past, and I'm grateful to have people who care so openly and freely for me… but you guys are here to do a job, and while I am clearly unable to help with it, if you're needed there, you should go."

"I've never lied to you, Emily. I've expressed skepticism and concern, I've offered help when I thought it was needed, but I've never lied to you, and I don't intend to start now," Hotch shared. "So I'll say that honestly, I think they could use a hand at the station – but I also think that they'll be able to concentrate a lot better if they're not worried about you, alone in your hotel room and making plans for the funeral of the man who abused you. And while I think I could help them by being there, I also feel that I can help them _and_ you by being here. And I'd like to be here. But I won't force company on you that you don't want or that you're uncomfortable with."

Emily evaluated him with dark eyes, and Hotch tried to discern emotion from them, but there were too many there, and then suddenly there were none, so he waited for her to reply and hoped for the best.

"It's your call, Aaron," she said simply, and turned back to head into the hotel.

_Thank God_, Hotch thought. After spending some time with her, he wasn't sure that he wanted to be anywhere else right now, when it seemed obvious that Emily needed people, and not the isolation that she seemed to crave.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I'm awful, I know. I just haven't been able to get into my writing for a while. I'm sorry, guys. If any of you have stuck around, you're magical human beings. If not, well... It's been a while, so I certainly can't blame you.

Review if you can! I tried very hard, but I'm not sure if I was able to get back into my characters. Keep in mind, though, that this was supposed to be a lighter chapter, in the face of all the anguish.


	15. CHAPTER FOURTEEN: CURVE BALL

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: CURVE BALL

Hotch followed Emily through the hotel lobby, and found himself frowning as Emily veered away from the elevator that would lead them to their rooms.

"Prentiss, it's that way," he said, indicating down the hallway with a point of his finger.

"I know," she replied softly. "But I'm going _this_ way," she smiled at him, using her own finger to gesture toward the hotel bar.

Hotch appraised his agent carefully. Emily was exhausted, and had been through a lot. While drinking was no way to solve her problems, Hotch was sure that Emily was aware of that. And, really, with all that she had been through in the past couple of days, she was certainly deserving of a drink or several, if she desired it. And apparently she did.

"Would you like company?" He asked, inclining his head slightly.

"Isn't that the whole reason that you're here? To keep me company?" Emily jested.

"Only if you want it," Hotch shrugged. "But if you'd like to be alone for a while, I understand."

He was being very careful. He'd heard Emily when she'd said that whether or not he returned to the station was his choice, but that didn't necessarily mean that she wanted him hovering, and her detour to the bar could easily be an attempt to get rid of him.

But Emily looked up at him, exasperated, and retorted, "Hotch, I keep telling you to leave, and you're still here. I don't think it matters if I'd like to be alone. Coincidentally, however, I do not want to be alone, yet. But I _would_ like a drink. So, yes, company would be nice."

Hotch nodded, and followed behind her as she made her way to the bar. She chose a little booth at the far corner of the bar, and Hotch smiled. They worked for the FBI, and part of their job was to be vigilant at all times. The booth in the corner was optimal, as it allowed them to see the entrance and get a good view of the bar area. It was amusing, however, because it was just past three on a Wednesday. The bar was void of all patrons.

Nevertheless, that did not shut down any of Emily's instincts as a federal agent.

The barman, lacking customers, came to their table and asked what they'd like to drink and if they were hungry, while dropping off a bowl of peanuts.

"No, thank you, but a gin and tonic would be great," Emily replied, then turned to look at him. "Do you want anything, Hotch?"

Hotch evaluated the situation. Technically, when he'd called Rossi after he and Emily's conversation in the parking lot, he'd taken the rest of the day off. Rossi was still sending him information, and he'd still intended to look over it if he got the chance, but if he was willing to take the day off to make sure that Emily had company, then he certainly shouldn't let her drink alone.

And although it was Emily's terrible father that had died, the revelations of the past two days had shaken him. He could use a drink.

"Make it two," he decided.

"Sure thing," the burly bartender with the friendly face smiled, and made his way back behind the bar.

"I don't think I would have pegged you for a gin and tonic kind of man," Emily teased lightly.

"Well, I didn't really get the feeling that sipping on scotch was going to cut it," Hotch informed.

Emily was quiet for a long moment, looking down as she absently tapped her room key against the wooden table. Then, "You don't have to stay here, you know."

"I know."

She looked up and smiled again, and Hotch was heartbroken to see tears in them once more. "I'm glad you're here, though," she shared softly.

Hotch opened his mouth to reply, but the bartender interrupted whatever words he had been about to speak.

"Here you are," the man declared quietly, sensing the atmosphere that he had disturbed. "If you need anything, you just give me a holler."

"You can probably just keep these coming," Emily requested, holding up her drink.

The bartender nodded, and said, "Sure thing," before wandering back to the bar and cleaning its already polished countertops. Hotch imagined he was a bit bored with the lack of activity.

Emily cleared her throat and pushed her tears away before she lifted her glass and said, "Na zdorovie."

"I… don't know what that means," Hotch admitted with a little laugh, then added, "but, cheers." And he tapped their glasses together.

"It's Russian. Basically the same as what you said. I'm just being pretentious," Emily laughed and took a sip.

"You could've just said that," Hotch frowned playfully.

Emily blinked and her drink shifted to the side as her hands made a sort of "what?" gesture, and she replied, "I thought I just did."

Hotch laughed and raised his glass to his mouth to take a healthy gulp of the beverage.

* * *

"I think, with the new lead on the hospital information, that I can more definitively posit the UNSUB's geographic location," Reid informed.

"Well, that's good, kid, 'cause I think we're running dry with just the hospital employees," Morgan said, tiredly rubbing the wrinkles on his forehead.

"And we don't even know that it _was_ an employee," JJ reminded them helplessly.

"Well, I think we can assume that the UNSUB has some medical training," Reid replied thoughtfully. "While the internet makes it significantly easier to obtain medical information, such as where the most accessible veins can be located, these cuts are clean and precise. We should check with the ME, but I'm pretty confident, with this new information, that the murder weapon was probably a scalpel."

"A _scalpel_?" Garcia responded first, horrified. "Could a tool that small even cause this kind of damage?"

Morgan reached a hand out to cover her shoulder, which she immediately latched onto. JJ smiled tiredly and shook her head, amazed that the two were _that_ oblivious. But the smile was brief and faded quickly.

"Yes," Spencer said decisively. "Obviously the beatings were caused by a combination of human interaction and the metal pipes, but as far as the evisceration and stabbing are concerned, a scalpel could certainly cause this kind of damage. I'm surprised we didn't pick up on it before. I'm a little embarrassed, actually," he added, scratching the back of his head with his pen.

"But the stab wounds on the body are much wider than the blade of a scalpel," Rossi frowned.

"Well, yes, but if you look at them closely, they're less like stab wounds, and more like really deep slices," Reid surmised. "Like the blade was stabbed in, and the UNSUB pulled wider to make larger lacerations."

"I really hate this job, sometimes," Garcia grimaced.

* * *

Three hours later, Hotch and Emily were still sitting at their booth in the bar. More people were filtering in as evening fell, but they were still pretty isolated in their corner.

They hadn't discussed the case, because Hotch understood that Emily was still reeling and probably didn't want to talk about the details of it. And he didn't want to upset her again; she'd had quite enough of that, and she clearly needed to relax – hence the alcohol.

Instead, they'd pretty steadily gone through a lot of drinks and were currently watching the baseball game on the bar's television. The bartender had handed the remote over a good couple of hours ago.

"I played softball in college," Emily informed, sipping on her drink through a tiny red straw.

"Softball?" Hotch snorted, spilling a few drops of liquor on his shirt. His jacket had been discarded a while back, and he frowned, trying to decide whether or not he should put it back on to cover up his mishap.

Emily laughed, openly, as she watched the liquid fall. "Don't," she said, still chuckling, reaching across the bar to stop the hand that was aiming to grab for his jacket. "It's gin and tonic," she said, like he should know what that meant. When he replied to her comment with a blank stare, Emily elaborated, "It's clear. It'll dry, and no one will see. But that should teach you not to laugh at me," she frowned. "What's wrong with softball?"

"All the girls on the softball team at my school were lesbians," Hotch informed, leaning forward as though to share a secret. "And I don't mean to sound like a stereotypical male, but they were not attractive ones."

Emily tossed her head back with laughter, and knocked the straw from her drink as Hotch, in turn, laughed at her.

"There was only one lesbian on my team," she shared, once she'd calmed her amusement down.

"That sounds lonely," Hotch frowned, suddenly serious.

Emily smiled at his sincerity, but shook her head. "Trust me, Rachel Connors wasn't lonely."

"How do you know?" Hotch defended stubbornly.

Emily pressed pink lips to her glass for a sip, and when she was finished, she smirked, and replied, "Because I kept her company."

Hotch choked on his drink incredulously. "Sexually?" He verified.

Emily rolled her eyes and nodded, but Hotch continued to look at her like she'd grown a second head or some other extra appendage. "Stop looking at me like that." She demanded, tossing back the rest of her drink and indicating to Stew (the barman) that she would like two more.

But Hotch did not stop looking at her _like that_, so Emily defended, "I was curious! I got over it." The careless shrug that punctuated the end of her sentence reassured Hotch more than he thought it should.

"We're not talking about this anymore," Emily declared, accepting fresh drinks from Stew and sliding Hotch's across the table as he ordered a plate of French fries.

"But – " Hotch began.

"Uh-uh," Emily said, shaking her head as Hotch's phone began to chime. "We're done. Nothing softball related. You should get that," she gestured to Hotch's phone, which was sliding close to the edge of the table with the vibrations.

Glaring, Hotch picked up the phone. "Hotchner."

"Aaron, it's Dave. We're on our way back to the hotel. Everyone's exhausted, and a lot of what we need to do now is legwork. Reid seems to think the UNSUB is a doctor or nurse who lives within a twenty mile radius of the old hospital, so we've taken a list of disgruntled employees, particularly those who seemed to have an abnormal interest in rape patients, and we figured we'd talk to them tomorrow and see if any of them fit the profile."

"That sounds fine," Hotch nodded, forgetting in his inebriation that Rossi couldn't see him do it.

"What's your room number, again? I wanted to show you the profile we've come up with."

"I'm in 318, but Prentiss and I are at the bar right now."

A long pause, and then, "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously," Hotch intoned, aggravated, watching as Stew made another appearance. "Here, talk to Emily. My fries are here," he said, handing Emily the phone. She rolled her eyes, but accepted the device and pressed it to her ear.

"Hi Dave."

"Did I hear him right? You're at the bar?"

"Yep," Emily said, reaching forward to snag one of Hotch's fries. "Been here for…" she glanced down at her watch, then finished, "about three hours. You can meet us here when you guys get back."

"Yeah… I'll do that," Rossi replied, sounding… well, weird, was the best way that Emily's inebriated mind could describe it. "I was just telling Aaron that we're headed back now and should be there in a few minutes."

"Great," Emily answered, reaching for another fry, ignoring the brief flare of irritation in Hotch's eyes. "We'll see you soon."

She flipped the phone shut and took another sip of her drink before informing Hotch, "I need to use the restroom."

"Again?" Hotch pulled a face. "You just went twenty minutes ago."

"Seriously? Hotch, we've been drinking for three hours. Excuse my overactive bladder, alright? I'll be back in a minute."

Emily was disappointed to see the line to the restroom (even though it was short), but when she'd finished and washed her hands, she headed back to the table to find not only Hotch, but the rest of their team, who had squished into the small booth and dragged over a few extra chairs.

She tapped Morgan on the shoulder and made a sort of shooing motion at him. "My spot," she declared.

"You smell like a distillery," Rossi said to Hotch. "You really have been drinking."

"That's what I told you," Hotch replied with a furrow in his brow.

"How are you, Em?" JJ asked, reaching out from beside her friend to touch her knee.

"I'm fine," Emily assured, though JJ didn't believe her. But right at this moment, Emily really was fine. She was drunk, and she'd been having a really good time with Hotch. She would have time to assess that later, along with everything else.

"JJ, Garcia, did either of you know that Emily used to play softball?" Hotch asked innocently, holding up the remote to gesture toward the television.

As though it were instinct, Emily's foot shot out to kick him.

"Ow!" Hotch exclaimed, reaching down to rub his shin.

"I knew," Garcia replied, watching the interaction with puzzlement. "She won MVP in high school."

"It's scary that you know that," Morgan determined, taking drink orders and heading to the bar.

"Scary and magical," Garcia called out after him, grinning and feeling a little lighter as she'd seen that Emily was, as well.

"Change the channel," Emily demanded.

"I'm trying," Hotch frowned, smashing the buttons with his large thumb.

"Why does he need to change the channel?" Reid inquired.

"Because we're not talking about this anymore," Emily said pointedly, glaring at Hotch. "Just move the switch over to cable and change the channel, Hotch."

"I tried that already."

"Clearly not, because it's still not working," Emily determined, nabbing another of his fries.

"Stop that. Those are mine. Also, I quit," he tossed the remote in Emily's direction, and sulked a little bit, to the team's amusement.

Seconds later, the channel switched.

"How did you do that?" Hotch asked, amazed, like she'd done something incredible.

"I did exactly what I told you to do five seconds ago."

Hotch scowled, then said declaratively, "I find that very annoying."

Emily gnawed on another fry, and shrugged, "Well I found it very annoying that you didn't listen to me when I told you how to do it to begin with. So, now we're even."

"Even and annoyed," JJ whispered to Garcia, who watched the exchange with amused eyes.

"She has a point," Reid protected, offering Emily a soft smile, which she immediately returned.

"How much have you guys _had_ to drink?" Rossi asked, seemingly still stunned that they were drinking at all.

Ignoring him, Hotch argued, "We're not even, because you were mean, and… bossy."

Emily had been reaching back to put a fry in her mouth, but instead changed direction and tossed it at Hotch's face.

"This is just abuse," Hotch glowered.

"Well, I'm mean and bossy, so you shouldn't have expected anything different," Emily replied, smiling saccharinely and reaching over for another fry, chewing on it with satisfaction.

"Play nicely, children," Rossi mediated, smiling softly.

While they were there for the case, and while heartbreaking things had been seen and revealed in the past couple of days, after a quick assessment of the team, he noted that everyone seemed to be smiling. They were exhausted, and had been working hard, even through their sadness and concern. It was a relief – a _huge_ one – to see Emily in such high spirits, even if her spirits were aided by a little liquor.

Normally, he'd tell the team to get some sleep and start fresh in the morning, but Rossi thought it might be good for them to spend a little more time with intoxicated Emily and Hotch to give them all a little comfort. It would probably help them sleep, anyway.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I figured that while I was feeling inspired by this story, I'd give you guys as much of it as I could. I'm flattered that some of you have still stuck around, and I was very happy to see the reviews from last chapter. Thank you all!


	16. CHAPTER FIFTEEN: BACK IN THE SADDLE

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: BACK IN THE SADDLE

Hotch had woken early with a hangover from hell and a desperate desire for coffee that couldn't be squelched. He'd made a cup with the cruddy coffee machine in his room, but just past sunrise, he decided that although his headache was self-inflicted, he would treat it with a stronger cup from the bakery down the street and some aspirin from the convenience store beside it.

He hadn't quite put all of his thoughts together, yet. His head felt foggy and heavy, but through the haze that last night had become, he remembered having a surprisingly good time, given the circumstances. He wasn't sure that it was appropriate, and he felt a bit guilty that their good time had come only at the expense of Emily's privacy, but he hadn't felt so lighthearted in a while, and he had enjoyed the feeling.

He had enjoyed seeing Emily at ease with him. She'd needed that, he knew, but selfishly, it made him feel like he had helped her, and odd as it was, that made him feel proud.

But he supposed it wasn't so awful to feel happy about the fact that he had helped his friend through a very hard time in her life, especially when she had so selflessly been doing exactly that for him for several months now, if not longer. And that notion alleviated some of his guilt.

When Hotch arrived back at the hotel, he knocked softly on the door to Emily's room. He was sure that JJ and Garcia would be up – probably preparing to go back to the station – and he thought to see if Emily was awake, as well.

"Hotch?" JJ asked, opening the door for him and letting him in. "Is everything alright?"

Brows furrowed, Hotch nodded. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Garcia poked her head out from the bathroom door, and replied, "It's seven o'clock in the morning, Boss Man. We don't normally see you until the dew on the grass is all dried up. Unless we're already hard at work, but, you know," she said, holding up a hairbrush helplessly, "we women are vain, fickle creatures. We need a few minutes."

Bemused, Hotch held up a cup of coffee and used it to gesture in the direction of the bed, where a huddled lump beneath the blankets indicated that Emily was still asleep. "I just brought coffee."

JJ and Garcia traded an odd look among each other that looked surprised, and a little bit giddy. But before he had time to analyze it any further, his phone began to ring, and he quickly set the coffee down, desperate not to wake Emily if she wasn't already mobile. But the blankets on the bed shifted, and Emily emitted a soft groan at her unpleasant awakening.

"Hotchner," he tried to answer the phone quietly. The detective from the station was calling about a particularly interesting suspect, but Hotch tried to end the call as quickly as possible while still obtaining the necessary information.

When Hotch hung up the phone, Emily removed the blanket from her head, and Hotch almost laughed at the expression on her face. He didn't, though, because he remembered waking up two hours ago feeling exactly as awful as Emily looked to be feeling.

He offered Emily the cup of coffee, and apologetically said, "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

Emily accepted the coffee after propping herself up against the pillows, and said quietly, "You're a saint. Thank you."

"I also brought breakfast," he said, tendering a brown paper bag with a guilty look on his face.

"Why are you awake?" Emily asked suspiciously, running her hand through her hair in a slightly successful attempt to untangle it. Hotch watched her hand sift through dark silk, and felt his insides warm, but steadfastly ignored it. Emily was a beautiful woman, he knew, but admitting to anything beyond that would just be inappropriate. She was his friend, and his colleague.

"I wake up early when I'm hungover," he explained, sitting down beside her on the bed and kicking his legs up.

Emily adjusted her pillows so that he could have some as well, and then shook her head. "That's awful. I know they say that hydration gets rid of the hangover, but I'm telling you, Hotch: sleep is the cure."

"Sleep tends to feel less like a cure and more like a hassle when your mouth tastes likes stale gin and French fries, and your head starts pounding in tune to an Aerosmith song," Hotch declared, reaching into the bag to retrieve a pumpkin scone.

"Well you guys drank half the gin supply in New York," JJ laughed lightly, reaching into her bag and pulling out a smaller one that held her makeup. She then made her way to the mirror by the window.

Emily groaned again – quiet, but discernible to Hotch, who was right beside her. "Let's not talk about it," Emily suggested, shifting so that she was sitting cross-legged on the bed. "My liver's a little unhappy with me, at the moment."

Hotch watched as Garcia rushed out into the room to borrow a tube of something from JJ, and then watched as she scuttled back into the bathroom.

"How do you manage this?" He asked, his voice hushed so as not to offend as he gestured toward JJ and Garcia with his coffee cup. His face was twisted into a little grimace of confusion.

"Normally it's just me and JJ. I wake up about half an hour before she does to shower, then I deal with hair and makeup out here, and I leave shortly after to get coffee with you so that she can have the room to get ready," Emily explained easily, taking another sip of her coffee and sighing into it with pleasure.

Hotch felt his stomach boil, because, just for a moment, that little sigh ruined him. The fact that Hotch found her attractive was becoming increasingly clear to him this morning, and he wasn't terribly sure how to respond to it. He wanted to ignore it, but… well, that sigh had _ruined _him, and that was just impossible to ignore. So he watched her, for what must have been thirty or so seconds, while he attempted to compose himself.

"Uh… Hotch, were you planning on going to the station today?" JJ asked, apparently sensing his desperate need of rescuing and responding accordingly.

Truthfully, JJ had noticed how close Emily and Hotch had been growing for months. She didn't think that anything untoward was happening, but she knew that they had coffee together every morning and had shared that with Garcia. She also knew that they were both very private people, and the fact that they trusted one another was nothing short of a miracle. But she hadn't really thought that they were (or had thought to be) anything but close friends until the night before, and the thought had occurred to her again this morning when Hotch had comfortably situated himself next to Emily in her bed.

She didn't think that either of them were aware of that, yet, though – and she was sure that now was not the time for it. Hotch might have been beginning to realize that he felt something, but he clearly wasn't able to deal with it just now, and she was sure that Emily didn't need that on her plate at least until they returned home.

So work had been the first thing to rush from her mouth when Hotch's words failed him, and she felt bad, because he looked a little embarrassed and a lot confused.

"Yes," Emily answered for him.

At that, JJ watched his confusion and embarrassment ebb away. "Are you sure?" He asked, heavy brows knitted together once more.

Emily nodded. "I've mostly taken care of the funeral plans, and, honestly, all I want to do today is sleep and order room service. Recover from my binge last night, you know," she chuckled a little. "You should go," she said, nudging him on the arm.

Hotch surmised the situation and nodded carefully. Emily did seem a little more lighthearted, today, and that made him feel _better_, but he still didn't quite feel _good_ about it. But he thought part of that might just be because it made him feel better to be with her, and not necessarily because she needed him there.

"Okay," he conceded. "But I'd like it if you called once or twice so that we know you're holding up alright."

"I'm going to be asleep, Aaron," she replied, smiling indulgently at him.

"Well, call before you start watching Sweet Home Alabama and tear up at the lightning glass, or… whatever," Hotch instructed.

"Hey," Emily frowned, pointing at him with her coffee cup. "It's a good movie. Also, I watched your James Bond movie and didn't criticize, so you can just shove all your macho hangups about Reese Witherspoon up your a – "

"Woah! That is not appropriate language before 8 AM, my esteemed comrades," Garcia admonished, as JJ stared at them with incredulous amusement scrawled all across her face. "Besides, it's time for us to depart into the sunrise and save all of humankind, so… chop chop," she announced, punctuating the end of her sentence with two short claps.

"Fine," Hotch said, standing up. "Call," he demanded, looking directly at Emily with all humor suddenly eradicated.

She looked back up at him, her face solemn as she nodded. "I will. But since I'm calling, all of you can stay at the station until the work day is done, alright?"

JJ and Garcia looked at Hotch for his okay, but he didn't give it.

"We'll see," he offered instead.

"Aaron," Emily warned.

"We'll see," he said again, then smiled just the smallest bit, and continued with a shrug that looked easy, but really was not. "I might get worried."

"Don't," Emily told him seriously. "I'm fine. I'll be better when we can go home, so you guys just go work your magic and make that happen."

"We'll be back, plum," Garcia said, leaning over the bed to plant a loud, sloppy kiss against Emily's cheek.

JJ also leaned over to give her a hug, but then whispered in her ear, "We're going to catch this guy, Em. And then we'll take you home. I promise."

Emily smiled sweetly at her, and hugged her back tightly. "Thanks, Jayje."

And then the brunette agent watched them all file out of the room, fidgeting slightly as though fighting the urge to feign illness to stay with her. Emily felt her heart warm. She truly was honored to have all of them in her life.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Alright, my lovely readers, this chapter is short – and the last of the lighthearted chapters that you've been seeing recently. I felt like I had several chapters of depression, so I should fit in a few amusing and sweet ones, with the days between the death of Emily's dad and the arrival of the ambassador. However, I have to get back to the angst sometime, so enjoy the fluff while it lasts!

Please review!


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